A Father's Love
by criminalxxxmindsxxxfreak
Summary: When the CSI team has no leads and a brutal killer is terrifying Vegas, the BAU is - grudingly - brought in to help. Things go from bad to worse when Reid is taken by the UnSub. Blood, violence and possible spoilers. Warnings inside.
1. Breaking Point

**A/N: This is my first ever crossover fanfic, so please bear with me. I've written a few fanfics for Criminal Minds, but this is totally differnt for me b/c there are now two teams together... I love both Criminal Minds and CSI, but I haven't watched any of the new CSI episodes because it's too depressing for me without Grissom on the team...**

**That being said, this fic will have the CSI team that I know and love: Brass, Grissom, Catherine, Sara, Nick, Greg and Warrick. I'm not too sure how well I did keeping them all in character since I haven't watched the show regularly in a while. I still watch reruns on Spike when I can, but I'm still not so sure I did a good job...**

**Also, this will be extremely Reid-centric because I love him and I can't help but make him the focus of the story... and with this story, I have absolutely no idea how well I did merging the two teams together so I need input! If you have any advice or suggestions, please let me know. I know where I want the story to go, but I'm just not sure if I'm doing a good job getting it there, so please review and let me know.**

**WARNING: Alright, I'm pretty sure that there will be violence, blood and some mild swearing here and there. There may be minor spoilers for some episodes, and I'll make sure to put that in future warnings if there are.**

**I'm also going to apologize in advance, since I know that the updates for this story will be coming a little slower than normal. I'll try to update at least every two or three days but I'm not making any promises. This story is a little more challenging to me to write I guess, so the chapters aren't coming out of my brain as fast as usual. But don't worry, I will always update as soon as I possibly can.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

"_Any man can be a father, but it takes a special person to be a dad." - Proverb_

Ch. 1: Breaking Point

Detective Jim Brass sat with his head in his hands, scowl on his face. Across from him, Grissom and Catherine sat waiting. "We've got five bodies, Brass," Catherine encouraged. "We need help."

Grissom frowned, "We've handled bad serial killers before, Catherine. I don't see why we need any outside help this time."

"Because this time there isn't a lot of physical evidence for us to process at the lab. No DNA, no tire treads, not even foot prints. All we've got are five dead men and bloody crime scenes."

Brass finally looked up, "I don't like working with feds." he said. "They'll come in here and take over the investigation and act like they own the place."

Catherine shook her head, "You don't know that, Brass. We're out of ideas. We don't have any leads and these people know what they're doing. They've done great work on cases all over the country."

"How are they going to get any farther than we have?" Grissom asked. "If we can't get any evidence, how can they help?"

Catherine sighed, "I told you; they look at crime scenes and murders differently than we do. Instead of going off of hard facts and DNA, they look at why the crime was committed, what would make the victim a target…"

"But there aren't any connections between the victims that we found," Brass pointed out. "Can't the guy just like killing?"

Catherine scowled, "I don't know, Brass. But we're at a dead end, and I think these people can help us. Make the call."

Brass shook his head, about to give another speech about his dislike of the FBI when his phone rang. Scowling, he snatched it up, "Brass." he answered. After a few moments, his face fell. "Yeah, alright. I'll send CSI." Hanging up, he looked at Grissom and Catherine. "They found a sixth body." he informed them bitterly.

Catherine's lips tightened, "I told you," she said. "You need to make the call."

She and Grissom stood up and called the rest of the team, telling them to head over to the newest crime scene. Before they left, Catherine looked over her shoulder, "Six men are dead, Brass. What harm could it do, really?"

* * *

Alone, Brass looked down at the card in his hand, thinking about what Catherine had said. Six men were dead. He wasn't fond of the FBI, but she was right. It couldn't hurt, could it?

He'd seen six men murdered in less than two months, and he was at a breaking point. They didn't have any evidence. They didn't have a single lead. All they had were dead men and a lot of public fear.

Almost grudgingly, he picked up his cell phone and dialed the number on the card.

A woman answered, "FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, Media Liaison, SSA Jennifer Jareau." she said quickly. He suspected she'd already said that many times that day…

"Agent Jareau," he began slowly. "I'm Detective Jim Brass, with Las Vegas PD. I think we could use your help…"

* * *

JJ hung up the phone with a sigh. _So much for a peaceful weekend with Will and Henry… _she thought sadly. Standing she gathered her things and checked her email for the crime scene photos and autopsy reports Detective Brass had promised to email immediately. She grimaced seeing the men, five of them, brutally murdered on the screen. And apparently, they'd found a sixth body just minutes ago.

Shaking her head, she exited the office and caught Morgan and Reid on their way back to their desks after a coffee break. "Get Prentiss and get to the round table room." she said quickly. "It looks like Vegas has a serial killer and they need our help."

Morgan and Reid's smiles evaporated then. "Didn't we just get back from a case?" Morgan asked to no one in particular as JJ hurried to Hotch's office.

* * *

Hotch looked up from the report he'd been finishing when JJ entered. "Hotch, I just got a call from Detective Jim Brass in Vegas. They've got a serial. Six bodies as of today."

Hotch sighed and laid the pen aside. "Alright, get the team in the round table room." he ordered.

"Already done." she said. "They're all waiting."

Hotch nodded and closed the folder in front of him. He'd been hoping to spend the weekend with Jack; he hadn't really had a lot of time with him lately. Picking up his cell phone he called Haley's sister, Jessica, to make sure that she could pick up Jack from school and stay with him for a couple of days.

She could, as she'd promised, but he still felt guilty.

Standing, he headed to the conference room. Another serial killer… weren't there enough out there already?


	2. Geek Squads

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and story alterted this :) I'm glad that people are so far liking it, but it's just the begining... things could still go downhill, because I have no idea how well I did writing the CSI team... Anyway, here's the next chapter, hope you like it!**

**WARNING: Ok, so there are teensy spoilers for "Memoriam" in this chapter. I figured Brass might recall having talked with other Vegas detectives about the whole deal with the Riley Jenkins murder, so I put some brief mentions of it in here... other than that, nothing much... just be warned that there will most likely be violence and blood in later chapters...**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

Ch. 2: Geek Squads

The CSI team and Brass waited in the lobby of the LVPD. Grissom looked more apprehensive than anything. He wasn't one to put much stock in anything he couldn't see with his own two eyes, but he understood the importance of studying human behavior. He just wasn't sure how much he trusted it yet.

Brass looked angry. He was angry at himself. He hated the idea of having to ask for help. Especially from the FBI. He never liked working with feds. The few times that he had, the agents had acted like somehow, because they were in the FBI, they were better than him and his detectives. He scowled again, glancing down at his watch. Shouldn't they have been here already?

Sara, standing next to Grissom, mirrored Grissom's expression of apprehension with just a little more anger. She, unlike Grissom, was certain that she didn't trust profiling. How could a bunch of guess work get them any kind of answers? She'd take hard DNA evidence any day. Unfortunately, they didn't have any DNA evidence.

Catherine looked … not happy exactly, just relieved that Brass had finally made the call. She seemed to be the only one of the three who didn't have any qualms about working with the FBI or profilers. She knew that they needed help, and she was glad Brass had finally decided to call.

Nick, Warrick and Greg stood behind the rest of them, discussing the feds who would be arriving. They'd worked with local PD and a few smaller police departments in the past and even though most officers and detectives on the LVPD knew them, there were always a few who didn't like the CSI team.

They weren't exactly excited to be working with the FBI, however, simply because of the stereotypical view they had of them… gun toting guys in black suits and sunglasses who had no sense of humor… Still, working in the FBI had to be a cool job. They couldn't decide yet whether or not they thought the agents would be tight-asses or mysterious, Men In Black type 'spies'.

* * *

The black SUVs pulled up in front of the Las Vegas Police Department. They hadn't been to Vegas in a while… "So we're going to be working with the CSI team on this one?" Rossi asked from the passenger seat. Hotch was driving with JJ in the back.

"Yeah," she answered. "And from the way Detective Brass talked, he wasn't happy to be calling the FBI for help."

"Are detectives ever happy to admit that they need help? It's human nature, I think, to want to handle problems alone." Rossi said, putting his sun glasses on as they stepped out of the vehicle.

"Let's just hope they're cooperative," Hotch said. "Six men are dead, and from this guy's pattern of escalation, another will be killed within a few days."

* * *

"Why are we working with CSIs on this case?" Prentiss asked, frowning over the file in her hands as they pulled up behind Hotch, Rossi and JJ. "We don't usually deal with them very closely."

"Because we are." Morgan said, shrugging. "I just hope the geek squad doesn't give us too much trouble. From what JJ said, they don't seem to happy about having us here."

Reid frowned, "You do realize that in the FBI, _we're _considered the 'geek squad'?" he asked as they got out of the SUV. "I think working more with the CSI team will be interesting. We might actually learn something."

Morgan rolled his eyes as they walked into the lobby where a small group of people stood, waiting for them. "What could they possible teach you, that you don't already know?" he teased.

* * *

Grissom watched as the profilers entered the building and frowned, recognizing David Rossi with them. He'd read a few of his books in the past… last he'd heard, the older profiler had retired.

A taller, younger man with dark hair and a stern face was beside him. The man's dark eyes were grim and hard, as if he rarely - if ever - smiled. Behind them was a muscular black man wearing more casual clothes, a gun clearly visible on his belt. Next to him was a dark haired woman, dressed more professionally and a tall, younger man with a mop of messy brown hair. The gun on his belt looked oddly out of place… Grissom doubted the kid was over thirty, if he was even that old.

A young blonde woman was the first to speak, "I'm SSA Jennifer Jareau," she introduced herself, shaking hands with Brass. "We spoke on the phone."

Brass nodded, surprised at the woman's youth… she couldn't be older than thirty-five… "Yes, I'm Detective Brass. This is the CSI team… Gill Grissom, Catherine Willows, Sara Sidle, Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown and Greg Sanders."

JJ nodded at them, "This is our Unit Chief, SSA Hotchner, and these are SSAs Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan and Dr. Reid." She pointed them each out as she said their names. Brass shook Hotch's hand and frowned at Reid.

"Dr. Reid?" he asked. "That name sounds familiar… did your team work a case here a few years ago?"

Reid felt his skin begin to heat… he had a feeling he knew what case the detective was talking about. "Yeah," Morgan said. "Uh, Reid, Rossi and I stayed behind after the case to look into the twenty year old murder of a little boy."

"Riley Jenkins…" Brass said, remembering. "I remember now. I work with the detective who worked on the case. He and I talked about it… said you guys solved the murder and uncovered another murder too. Gary Michaels, the little boy's murderer, right?"

"Yeah, Riley's dad, uh… killed Michaels after my… after someone told him that he was the man who killed him." Reid stuttered, looking down at his feet.

Brass nodded, "Right. Well, anyway, right this way," he said, "We've got a place set up for you to work."

* * *

Nick watched as Brass led the profilers down the hall to a conference room. "Well… that was different." he said.

"Didn't expect any of them to be so… young." Warrick agreed, thinking about the tall, thin man, Dr. Reid. "That kid definitely didn't look like an FBI agent."

Greg shrugged, "Didn't Agent Jareau say he was a Doctor?" he asked. "He's gotta be my age or younger… how can he be a doctor?"

Nick grinned and followed Catherine, Grissom and Sara down the hall, "Maybe he's smarter than you, Greg. Did you ever think of that?"

Greg ignored him, and sped up. He was more excited than any of the rest of them to be working with Federal Agents.

"Agent Jareau was something else, wasn't she?" Nick asked as they followed the younger man.

Warrick grinned, "Sure… but blonds aren't really my type. Agent Prentiss though…" he trailed off as they entered the conference room and prepared to meet the federal government's 'geek squad'.


	3. Always a Connection

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! :) glad to know I'm doing a good job with the CSI team... :)**

**WARNING: Nothing much in this chapter really... just flirty Garcia, 'cause I love her :)**

**PLEASE REVIEW! :)**

Ch. 3: There's Always A Connection

The team was all gathered around the table, files piled in front of them. "You've had six victims, right?" Hotch asked as the last few members of the CSI team entered the room and took the empty seats.

"Yes," Grissom said. "All men. All stabbed repeatedly in the abdomen, chest and neck. Other than that, there isn't much of a connection."

"There's always a connection…" Reid murmured, flipping through the file in front of him. "Alexander Garner, the first victim, was twenty-two, unmarried. He apparently had been in trouble twice already for not paying child support for his three year old son, Thomas."

Morgan closed the file in front of him, "Braden Colley, forty-nine, divorced, making good money. Lost visiting rights to see his three children and had numerous affairs… and an alcohol problem."

"Frank Johnston, thirty-four, his girlfriend had a restraining order against him. He had an outstanding warrant for possession and distribution of heroine…" Prentiss said, reading from her file.

"Parker North, forty, unmarried. Worked at a local grocery store." JJ read, "He was having financial trouble and was about to lose his house…"

"Kevin Daniels, twenty-eight," Rossi read, "About to graduate from community college. He's just broken off his engagement to his girlfriend…"

"And this morning's victim, Richard Giles, thirty-six. Divorced. A defense attorney in a local firm, making good money and doing well financially. No previous problems with the law…" Hotch read from his file.

"See, there isn't a connection," Sara said. "Maybe this guy just likes killing."

Morgan shook his head, "No. The victim type seems random, but it's too specific for the unsub to be classified as an Omnivore. There is a connection between these men, we just have to find it."

"An Omnivore?" Greg asked, frowning. "Isn't that like… something that eats both plants and meat?"

"Well, in one sense, yes." Reid answered. "But for our purposes, an Omnivore is a serial killer whose victim's are completely random because the unsub is killing simply for the purpose of killing. They play games with law enforcement, and that's what get's them off. Not so much the act of killing, but the fact that they can kill and get away with it." He spoke so fast that the CSIs, who weren't accustomed to Reid's rapid-fire explanations, had leaned forward slightly in an effort to catch the words.

They stared at him, surprised. "So there are different types of serial killers?" Warrick asked, looking vaguely interested.

"There are a lot, actually. Most of them kill for sex," Morgan explained. "Some sexual fantasy that they've created in their mind… some people kill because it makes them feel powerful… some people kill because they're angry. It's understanding the fantasy, the reason that they kill, that gives us what we need to find them."

"Which is why there is _always_ some form of connection between the victims; however obscure it may seem to us, it means everything to the unsub." Hotch said. "Once we find the connection between the victims, we'll be able to better understand exactly why this unsub is killing, and that'll give us a clear profile of who he is."

"You keep using that term, 'unsub'," Sara said, leaning back in her chair. "What exactly does it mean?"

"It stands for unidentified subject. In this case, the killer. It's just our term for the criminal." Rossi explained, frowning down at the file in his hands.

"You know, from these files, there isn't even a tenuous connection that I can see." Prentiss said. "I think we need to go deeper into the victims' lives."

Morgan nodded, "I'll call Garcia." He pulled out his cell phone, placing it on speaker.

"You have reached the office of infinite knowledge," Garcia's perky voice spoke over the speaker. "Ask and be amazed."

Morgan grinned, shaking his head. "Hey, Baby Girl, we need a favor."

"Well you're in luck, handsome. Since I like you so much, I'm sure I can perform a teensy little favor for you… it wouldn't involve melted chocolate and a night of passionate love making, would it?"

Morgan pressed his lips together, "You know you're on speaker, right?"

"Why sweet heart, do you think I care who hears? I've only ever had eyes for you…"

"Garcia, focus." Hotch warned. "We need you to dig as far back into the victims' lives as you can. Find any connection you can and call us back."

"Your in luck, digging is one of my specialties." Garcia chimed. "I'll upturn every rock and look in every dark corner and I shall alert you the second I find anything connecting them"

The CSI team looked slightly shocked, slightly intrigued by the conversation. "Who exactly is Garcia?" Catherine asked, frowning.

"Our technical analyst back at Quantico… she, uh, she's a little… quirky." Morgan explained. "But she's the best computer analyst out there. She'll find the connection."

"Yeah and if she doesn't, boy genius here will." Prentiss said, nodding toward Reid, who sank a little further down in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "There isn't a pattern he can't figure out."

"We need to see the most recent crime scene," Hotch said. "Would it be possible for someone to take a couple of us there?"

Brass nodded, "Sure. Nick and Greg were going to go back to finish processing a few things anyway."

Hotch nodded, "Alright, Rossi, Morgan and Reid, you two go with them. And the autopsy…" he ventured. "It's been completed, right?"

Grissom nodded, "Sara and I were going to go talk to Doc about it,"

"Would it be alright if Agent Jareau and I joined you?" Hotch asked.

"Of course," Grissom agreed, ignoring Sara's look of annoyance.

Warrick and Catherine headed back to the lab to finish processing the little evidence they'd gathered at the scene.

"Oh, has the last victim's family been notified yet?" Prentiss asked as the others left.

Detective Brass shook his head, "I'm about to head over there now."

"Could I go with you?" she asked. "I have a few questions for them."

"Well, I was already going to question them," Brass said defensively.

"Of course, no… I didn't mean it like that. We ask a few… different questions than what most law enforcement asks." Prentiss explained. "We don't exactly look at things from a conventional view point in the BAU."

Brass nodded, "Alright, fine." he agreed, almost grudgingly. "I guess this is all to help find that elusive connection, huh?"

"Yes, actually." Prentiss explained. "Like we said, there's always one. It's just that sometimes, it takes a little digging to figure out what it is."


	4. Organized Rage

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, story alerts and favorites adds :) This story has started to get easier to write so hopefully my updates will continue to be regular and fast. (I actually just finished writing chapter seven, but somehow I'm not sure how much farther the story will go from there... we'll see...)**

**WARNING: Major spoilers for "Minimal Loss" some minor spoilers for "Masterpiece"; a bloody crime scene and a sort of graphic autopsy discussion...**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

Ch. 4: Organized Rage…

Prentiss sat in the passenger seat next to the detective uncomfortably. She could almost feel the dislike rolling off him in waves… _What could make someone so angry with the FBI? _She wondered absently, though she already knew the answer. A lot of law enforcement didn't like the federal government because of preconceived notions that FBI agents were annoying, self-centered bastards who liked nothing more than upstaging smaller police departments.

"So," she said in an attempt to reduce the tension in the car, "I haven't worked too many cases here in Vegas… what's it like? Working here?"

Brass just shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. "Like working homicide in any big city, really. I've seen a lot of freaky stuff… a lot of sad stuff and a lot of pointless violence."

Prentiss nodded, "I know what you mean… working in the BAU you see a lot of completely pointless crimes being committed."

"Is that so?" Brass asked, curious despite himself.

"Yeah… I haven't been on the team as long as the others and I've seen a man pretend to commit mass suicide inside a small compound and then later try to blow it up… and then his fifteen year old 'wife' did blow it up after he was killed."

Brass's eyes widened, "Fifteen year old wife?"

Prentiss nodded, "It was a cult… We got a call from an anonymous person claiming that Cyrus, the leader of the cult, was abusing the children, so Agent Reid and myself were sent in to question all the children… then state police preformed a raid on the compound and everything went down hill from there. Cyrus closed the whole compound down, took Reid and me hostage for a while, and demanded that the police leave. Our team was called in to negotiate, and Agent Rossi managed to calm him down some… until he found out that there was an undercover FBI agent inside."

"You mean he didn't know you were FBI?" Brass asked, looking away from the road for the first time to glance at the younger woman beside him.

She shook her head, "No. And when he found out, I took the blame. I was beat up pretty bad, but I was sure that if he thought Reid was the agent, he would've killed him… Eventually, they got Cyrus to release some people and then, I got one of the women inside to help me get the women and children out through the basement and SWAT and FBI raided the place, killing Cyrus. Unfortunately, Jessica, his 'wife', was devastated when she ran back in and saw him dead and decided to finish what he started, I guess, because she picked up the trigger and the place went up…"

Brass blinked, amazed at what the woman had been through. She was tougher than he'd thought. He suddenly found his dislike of the FBI slipping. Anyone who could go through something like that and come out of it, even relatively whole, to continue on with their job was dedicated to helping humanity… he started to reconsider his agitation at asking the BAU for help.

* * *

The morgue was dark and cold, much like all the other morgues that Hotch had been in in the span of his career. An older man with laugh lines around his eyes and a friendly face stood on the opposite side of a cold autopsy table where the body of Richard Giles lay.

"These are Agents Hotchner and Jareau," Grissom introduced them as then approached the table. "They're helping with the investigation." He ignored Sara's barely concealed snort of distaste as the agents shook the doctor's hand.

"What have you got for us, Doc?" Grissom asked, leaning over the table to study the mangled body of Richard Giles. Vicious, ragged stab wounds marred his neck and chest. The sheet covering the lower portion of the body was pulled down just far enough to reveal several similar cuts and stabs on the abdomen of the man.

"Well, as you can see this man was pretty much butchered…" Doc began, placing a hand on the side of the man's head. "He was struck here," he motioned to a purplish bruise on the jaw, "With enough force to dislodge three teeth, but it didn't knock him unconscious. Defensive wounds were found on the arms and hands, indicating a struggle."

He lifted one of the man's hands to reveal several shallow cuts on the fingers, palm and forearm. "He was stabbed seven times in the chest, fifteen times in the abdomen and twelve times in the throat, bringing us to a grand total of thirty-four stab wounds, not counting any of the shallower cuts and scratches caused from the struggle."

Hotch frowned, "Blitz attack," he murmured… "That indicates a disorganized offender."

"So?" Sara asked, frowning. She was so far unimpressed by the agents.

"So, this guy is far from disorganized… He's extremely methodical in everything… except the kills. The kills are angry and vicious. He probably watches these men, waits for the right moment, attacks and then cleans up all evidence once he's gone. But he's not careful and clean in his kills. He's messy and vicious. Something about these men sets him off, makes him angry enough that he isn't focused enough to keep the kills clean." Hotch explained, his eyes narrowing. The contempt in Sara's voice wasn't lost to him.

"So, we need to find out why the unsub is so angry at these men," JJ said, frowning down at the mangled body.

"How do you know he's angry?" Grissom asked, though he had a feeling he could guess. These men hadn't been killed quickly or gently after all…

"The way he kills." Hotch said. "He uses a knife as opposed to a gun. Guns are more efficient and distant. Knifes are messier and personal. Use of a knife can sometimes indicate impotence, but there doesn't seem to be any sexual component to the crimes. Just a lot of rage. Whatever it is that connects these men, he feels personally offended by it and kills them."

Sara grunted, but this time with a little less contempt. What Agent Hotchner had said actually made sense… she was surprised to think that maybe, just maybe, there could be something to all of this profiling stuff… but only maybe.

* * *

Richard Giles had been murdered inside his apartment. The door was marked off with yellow 'Crime Scene' tape when Nick, Greg and the FBI agents arrived. He's been discovered that morning by a neighbor who'd noticed the door standing open and went to check on him.

Inside they found obvious signs of a struggle and small CSI evidence markers still scattered around the entry way and living room. The table next to the door was broken, almost completely in half, and a picture lay on the floor not far from it, frame cracked and spattered with blood.

Blood marred the floor at their feet and led them into the living room where the struggle had continued, but with apparently less enthusiasm. "He lost a lot of blood," Rossi stated, looking around the disheveled room.

Nick nodded, "COD was exsanguination according to Doc." he said. "Guy took a beating though…"

"Where's the bedroom?" Rossi asked, looking around.

"Down the hall to the left," Greg said quickly, "But, uh, there wasn't any evidence that the killer even went into the bedroom so-"

"Oh, I figured that." Rossi said. "I just want to get an idea of who this guy is. Help us with victimology."

"Victim-what?" Greg asked, looking confused.

"Victimology," Reid explained. "The study of the victims… in order to profile the unsub, we have to know who the victims were, to find out why they were targeted."

Nick and Greg nodded slowly, still not used to Reid's rapid explanations. He talked almost as fast as he thought…

Rossi headed down the hall to the bedroom, leaving Morgan and Reid alone with Nick and Greg.

"So," Greg asked, bending down to collect a swab from the coffee table, where someone had obviously fallen. "What's it like working with the FBI?"

Morgan answered first, "Same as working with any law enforcement, I guess. Depressing, difficult… politics makes it hell… but at the end of the day, if we save one life, it's pretty damn rewarding."

Reid nodded in agreement, "It's never boring, that's for sure." He said, studying the crime scene before him. There were no fingerprints, no foot prints, no shoe treads… how had the unsub gotten in here, attacked Richard Giles and still managed to erase any evidence proving he was ever there except the dead body?

"Reid, it's never boring for you…" Morgan corrected him, "Not all of us can read 20,000 words a minute and zip through paperwork like it's nothing. And not all of us attract psychopaths like flies to honey either."

Reid frowned, "I don't attract psychopaths." he muttered.

"Reid, c'mon, you've have a gun held to your head so many times I lost count-"

"Sixteen, but that's beside the point. The job is dangerous. You've had a gun held to your head before too,"

"Not sixteen times I haven't." Morgan corrected. "You've also been lit of fire, kidnapped, held hostage four or five times, almost blown up-"

"You've almost been blown up before too." Reid interjected absently, turning his attention to the photographs on the mantle.

Morgan ignored him, "A serial killer sought you out to solve his crimes … and kill a lot of innocent people in return, Reid."

Reid frowned, "Technically, he was trying to get to Rossi, remember? I just happened to be the one who could figure out the clues the guy left behind. He wasn't actually targeting me. He wanted to kill the whole team to make Rossi feel the loss he felt when his brother was executed."

Morgan just shook his head, "Whatever you say, Pretty Boy."

Greg's eyes had widened while to two agents bickered. The kid had been through a lot apparently… well, it wasn't exactly right to call him a kid, since they were both around the same age, but he just seemed so much younger than he actually was…

Nick almost had to force back a laugh at the argument. How the hell had the kid survived so long in the FBI with all of that stuff happening to him? Obviously, he was tougher than he looked. "You had a gun held to your head sixteen times?" he asked, raising his brows as he knelt and bagged a strand of hair that had somehow been missed in their initial sweep of the room. It looked to be the same color as Richard Giles's hair, but you never knew, maybe they'd get lucky and it would be the killer's.

The younger agent shrugged, "Yeah." he said slowly. "You get used to it, I guess. After a while it just gets annoying."

Nick laughed, "I'll bet."

"What about almost being blown up? Or kidnapped? Or held hostage? How can you still want to do your job after all of that?" Greg demanded, completely at a loss.

Morgan laughed, "He's used to it. It's been happening to him pretty much since day one. He's never been normal… like I said, kid, psychopaths are just naturally drawn to you."

Reid scowled, "Whatever. Could we please stop talking about me and, I don't know, actually do our job?"

"Alright, alright… from the looks of this place it was a blitz attack." Morgan said. "Unsub probably surprised him when he was coming through the door."

"Yeah, but blitz attacks are usually disorganized and this guy is careful to never leave anything that could be traced back to him on scene. That's organized." Reid pointed out.

"So you think this might be a team effort?"

"No," Reid shook his head. "It feels too personal to be a killing team. Whatever Richard Giles did to become a target probably makes the unsub angry… angry enough to kill with a lot of rage. But not angry enough to stop him from cleaning up after himself. He's clearly not delusional or going through a psychotic break…"

Nick and Greg continued to collect swabs and listened while the profilers debated back and forth. They'd thought the FBI agents would stuffy, no-nonsense types… but these two at least were interesting to listen to. Even when they were talking about the killer, it was somehow intriguing. And the insights they were able to provide were almost astonishing.

Every now and then one of them would pop a question out, to be rewarded with another Reid's rapid explanations followed by a shorter, more understandable explanation from Morgan.

Nick raised his brows as Agent Reid began explaining the significance of the knife as the murder weapon. These guys knew what they were doing at least. Maybe they'd catch this killer, or unsub as the profilers called him, sooner than they'd thought.


	5. Connecting the Dots

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews once again :) I know that right now, this fic might be seeming... boring, but I have discovered something in finishing the seventh chapter of this story (which I did about two days ago...) and it is that I am totally and completely evil. By chapter nine (and I hope that's not too far ahead for you peoples) something terrible is going to happen and I have yet to figure out why my mind had to go and put the idea in my head.**

**I had a vague impression of what was going to happen in the end of this fic, but last night... that slightly bad thing that was going to happen to Reid... got about ten times worse. So I thought I'd warn you here, Reid is going to get hurt. I won't say or why or by who, just that it's going to happen. He isn't going to die, 'cause I can't bring myself to write that terrible ending, but ... he will be in pain. Physcial, emotional... maybe both... I'm not saying. Just a teensy little warning. I can't seem to stop myself from doing terrible things to my favorite genius of all time :)**

**WARNING: Teensy spoilers for "Elephant's Memory" and maybe, if you look closely, even smaller spoilers for "Profiler, Profiled" no violence yet and not much blood...**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

Ch 5: Connecting The Dots

Prentiss stood to the side while Detective Brass knocked on the front door of Richard Giles's ex-wife, Patricia's home. A brown eyed woman with messy red curls answered the door, a frown already in place, a toddler on her hip. "What is it?" she demanded, wasting no time.

"Ma'am, I'm Detective Jim Brass, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, with the FBI. We need to talk you… it's about your ex-husband."

The frown never left Patricia's face, as she stared at them. "Whatever trouble he's gotten himself into is no concern of mine. That bastard died to me two years ago when he left me and his children, and I don't want anything to do with him." Her eyes flashed with a hatred that was clearly visible.

Prentiss pressed her lips together and stepped forward slightly, "Mrs. Giles, this isn't about him 'getting into trouble'. Could we please come in?"

Patricia eyed the dark haired woman for a moment, and sighed, stepping aside to let them in. Something about the agent's eyes convinced her that this was important. She led them into a small living room and sat the toddler in a playpen in the corner of the room. A little girl, about six or seven, was sitting on the floor near the TV watching _Sonny With a Chance_.

"Hayden," Patricia said, flipping the TV off with the remote, "Go watch TV in the other room, alright?"

The girl looked at Brass and Prentiss curiously before standing and hurrying out of the room. Patricia motioned for them to sit down before doing so herself. "So, what exactly is it that you need to talk to me about Rick for?" she asked, still frowning.

Brass leaned forward, "Ma'am, this morning, your ex-husband was found dead in his apartment… he'd been attacked…"

Patricia's eyes got wide, "You're not serious?" she gasped, looking between them. "He- he was… murdered…" She hated her ex, but… she'd never want to see him murdered.

Prentiss leaned forward, "I'm afraid so…" she said quietly. "And we need to ask you a few questions…" She waited while Patricia seemed to collect herself and nod before continuing, "Was there any reason, any at all, that you can think of that someone would want to hurt Richard?"

"No. I mean, he wasn't … he wasn't the nicest person to be married to, but he never hurt anyone … intentionally. Physically. I haven't talked to him in years though. I've been raising Hayden and Nick by myself for the past two years. He pays his child support, but that's the only contact I have with him… we don't speak, he doesn't call. Not even to talk to the kids…"

"What was the reason for your divorce?" Prentiss asked, frowning.

"He was always working… I felt stupid when I never questioned his sudden business trips to God-knows-where when I finally found out what was really happening… A month after I caught him sneaking around, I filed for divorce."

"He was cheating on you?" Brass asked, frowning. He wasn't sure why that really mattered, but the look on the FBI agent's face said that it did.

Patricia nodded slowly, "Yes. And I haven't actually seen him since the divorce was made final. I get his checks in the mail and that's about it. To be honest, I didn't even know he was still in town."

Prentiss nodded, a frown forming on her face. "So you filed for divorce, and he just walked away, never even talking to his children or you after it was all final?"

Patricia nodded, "Yes, but I don't see how that's going to help you catch his killer."

Neither did Brass… he hoped that the profiler knew what she was doing, because so far he hadn't leaned anything that seemed even remotely useful.

* * *

Warrick scowled down at the next and last swab that had been taken from the crime scene earlier that day… it was blood, and yet again, the victim's blood. Obviously there had been a struggle in the apartment, but somehow the killer had managed to not injure himself as far as they could tell. So how exactly were they going to catch this guy?

Catherine hurried in behind him, "Anything?" she asked, leaning over the table.

"Nothing. The blood is the victim's, there weren't any footprints, no foreign DNA anywhere, no finger prints… Nick called a few minutes ago and said they found what may be a hair sample, but it already looks like it could belong to the victim, so we still don't have anything useful. I hope these profilers can come up with something."

"Well, from what I've heard, they've done amazing things all over the country. I'm sure they'll find something." Catherine said hopefully, glaring down at the swab Warrick had been examining.

* * *

Nick and Morgan sat in the front of the SUV, Greg and Reid in the back. Rossi had taken the other SUV earlier to get back to the station and meet Hotch. "So," Morgan said, leaning his head back against the seat. "Does your mom know you're here, Reid?"

Reid sighed and looked out the window. They always asked him that question, every time they came to Vegas. Ever since they'd found out about her schizophrenia. "No." he said. "I didn't exactly have time to tell her that when we left… and she doesn't really like the telephone anyway."

Greg smiled, "My mom doesn't know how to use a phone, let alone whether or not she likes them." he said. "So your mom lives here?" he asked.

Reid nodded, "Yeah… I uh, I grew up here. After I graduated though I went to CalTech so… I couldn't really see my mom as often. And now… I work a lot."

Nick nodded from the passenger seat, understanding, "I know what that's like. My parents are all the way in Texas." he said, turning to look at the two younger men in the back seat. He couldn't quite place the look on Reid's face… sadness, guilt… or maybe a little of both. "What about you, Morgan?" he asked, "Where are you from?"

"Chicago." Morgan answered, not taking his eyes from the road. "Grew up there… played some football in college until I injured my knee."

"You played football?" Nick asked. "Me too… what position were you?"

Morgan grinned, "Quarterback." he answered. "I started playing when I was about fourteen, after I started going to a local youth center…" he trailed off then, his eyes getting a little more distant before he cleared his throat. "But that was a long time ago I guess." then he grinned, "But it got me a scholarship."

Reid almost laughed. Of course both Morgan and Nick would've played football… why was it that so many people he met in law enforcement (even CSI apparently) had played sports in school? Was it some kind of requirement that he'd managed to bypass?

Greg shook his head, "Always hated football jocks when I was in high school," he said. "They weren't ever exactly nice."

Reid did laugh then, "No they weren't." he agreed, recalling one very painful incident on a football field, when he'd been tied naked to a goal post when he was twelve.

The way the two men in the back sounded caused Nick to turn back around, frowning at them. Something about the look on the young FBI agent's face told him that when he'd been in school, football players had been more than just 'not nice'.

Changing the subject, he looked to Reid, "So, what does your mom do?" he asked.

The strange look that passed over his face made Nick instantly regret the question. "She uh..." Reid frowned, not sure what to say. He hated lying, but he really didn't want to answer the question.

"She used to teach fifteenth century literature." Morgan interjected quickly, casting a glance at Reid in the rearview mirror.

Nick and Greg shared a look of confusion before Nick turned back around, "So what did Agent Rossi find out in the guy's bedroom?" he asked.

"Just that he obviously didn't miss his ex-wife. No pictures of him and her anywhere… not any pictures at all, really. He was a workaholic who spent most of his time at the office. So far, there isn't much for us to go on. Maybe Prentiss and Detective Brass had more luck talking to the ex." Morgan answered, still shooting Reid worried glances in the mirror. He had gotten suddenly paler when Nick had asked about his mother. He knew it wasn't the CSI's fault, but he was certain that Reid would be a little more on edge for a while before he got over the shock.

* * *

Back in the conference room at the station the CSIs and the profilers met again, all looking stressed and not happy. "We still haven't found anything to connect the victims," Hotch said, looking down at the autopsy report. "We've narrowed down the geographic profile some, and I want you to finish working on that, Reid. What we do know is that the motivator is rage. This unsub is angry about something. What we don't know is what he's angry about."

"He uses a knife, messy and personal, and blitzes the men inside their homes," Rossi said, "Which tells us that he's disorganized. But the absence of any physical evidence to tie him to the scene says that he's organized. This guy is smart, probably well educated."

"It will be difficult for people to believe that he's committed these crimes." Morgan interjected. "He hides it well. He's methodical and he watches the victims. He probably has a car, nothing large or flashy, though. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself."

Prentiss frowned, "And I noticed something when I was talking to Patricia Giles," she said. "None of these men have had stable relationships. Some are divorced, one just called off an engagement… I don't know exactly how that could be the unsub's trigger, but it's something the connects them." she said.

Hotch nodded, about to say something when Morgan's phone rang. "It's Garcia," he informed them, answering it and putting it on speaker. "Talk to me, Baby Girl."

She didn't bother with hellos. "I think I found the connection you guys have been looking for."


	6. Father Figures

**A/N: Thanks once again for all the wonderful, encouraging reviews, story alert and favorite adds :) :)**

**WARNING: nothing to warn you about in this chapter really... other than one brief nongraphic mention of molestation (and I do mean brief, btw, it's basically only just the word...)**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

Ch 6: Father Figures

The two teams leaned forward on the table, waiting to hear what Garcia had to say. "I looked as far into all of the victim's lives as I possibly could, and I found zilch. They didn't even shop at the same grocery store… the fist victim dropped out of college, another victim was about to graduate from college… then I started looking closer to the present time… and I put two and two together… I'm no profiler, but I think I've got something."

Morgan sighed, "C'mon, Baby Girl, just get to the point." he pressed, "This is kind of important."

Garcia huffed, "I know that," she snapped. "Geez, I'm getting there. What I noticed was this: Alexander Garner was almost arrested for neglecting to pay child support for his three year old son, Thomas. Braden Colley was denied visiting rights to see his three children after he was divorced because of his severe drinking problem. Frank Johnston had a restraining order against him from his girlfriend because he was abusive to her and 'allegedly' molested their five year old daughter. Parker North had a seven year old son, Jason, who is currently with his grandparents. He apparently left him with them four years ago after Jason's mother was killed in a car accident and never visited him again. Kevin Daniels had just broken off his engagement to Kellie Hanson, only six months after she'd given birth to their daughter, Tiffany. And Richard Giles hasn't seen or talked to his children and ex-wife since they were divorced two years ago."

Hotch blinked, sitting back in his chair… he'd noticed earlier that several of the victims had been less than stellar parents, but there wasn't even anything in Kevin Daniels's file that said he was a father. Shaking his head, he almost smiled, "Thank you, Garcia."

They could almost hear her smile, "You're welcome. If I find anything else that would be useful, I will call you."

Grissom frowned, "What exactly does that tell us?" he asked.

"It tells us why this unsub is killing these men." Hotch answered, pulling the files closer to him.

"And that reason would be?" Sara asked, a scowl beginning to form on her face.

"They're bad fathers." Reid answered. "Every single one of them has children, and even though most of them never hurt them physically, they weren't there for them. They weren't father figures."

"So you guys are saying that this guy killed them because they were bad fathers?" Warrick asked, frowning.

"Yes," Rossi said, looking back at the evidence board. "That's why the victimology seemed so random to begin with. You don't have to be a certain age or work a certain job to be a bad parent."

"Well, that's great and all," Sara said, "But how exactly does this help us catch the bastard?"

"We know what he's angry about." Morgan said. "It tells us something… because he's targeting bad fathers, he probably had a bad father himself. One who either hurt him, or, since most of the fathers abandoned their kids, one who left him."

"So we have to look for a guy who had a bad father?" Greg asked, "Do you know how many people in this world have bad parents?"

"We can narrow it down more than that," Reid interjected, "We know he's a white male, has a job with flexible hours, drives a modest car, lives here in Las Vegas, has an unstable relationship at best with his father and is probably between the ages of twenty-five and forty-five. And once the geographic profile is finished, we'll be able to narrow it down even more."

"And then we'll call Garcia again and have her narrow down the list even more." Prentiss added.

"Which means that you, Reid, need to get to work on the geographic profile. JJ, put together a press conference, we need to get this profile ready soon."

Reid and JJ nodded, hurrying to their ordered tasks. "Morgan, you can help Reid with the geographic profile." Hotch told him.

Morgan grinned, "By that you mean give the kid whatever crayon he needs next, right?" he joked.

A smile glittered in Hotch's eyes, but it didn't manifest itself on his face. "Prentiss, you and Rossi go talk to Giles' neighbors, see of they noticed someone following him. Detective Brass," He looked at the older man, making sure what he said was alright. "Would you mind coming with me to talk to the people at Richard Giles's law firm? Maybe they noticed someone lurking around."

The detective nodded and stood to follow the FBI agent. Grissom took Catherine and Sara back to the lab with him, where the DNA results from the hair Nick had found and the swabs that Greg had taken should be coming in, leaving Nick, Greg and Warrick alone with Reid and Morgan, who were in the back of the room, staring at a map with colored lines and dots drawn everywhere.

* * *

Rossi and Prentiss knocked on the door of Nina Carmichael's apartment, the neighbor who had discovered Richard Giles's body. A shaken women, about fifty years old, answered the door, her eyes wary. "Who are you?" she asked from behind the safety chain.

Rossi held up his badge, "I'm Agent Rossi, this is Agent Prentiss. We're from the FBI… we just need to ask you a couple of questions about what happened this morning."

Nina frowned, "I already talked to the police. Told them everything."

"Yes, we know," Prentiss said slowly, "But we just have a few more questions. It could be very important to finding the man who did this."

She thought about it for a moment before closing the door slightly to undo the safety chain and holding it open wide, standing to the side so that they could enter. "Thank you," Rossi nodded to the woman as they followed down a narrow hall and into her living room.

"Ask your questions," the woman said as they sat down.

"In the past few weeks have you noticed anyone hanging around outside of the apartment buildings? Anyone following Mr. Giles around… someone unfamiliar?" Prentiss asked, putting her elbows on her knees.

Nina frowned and shook her head, "No, not that I remember. I don't really pay too much attention though. I work as a clerk in a small bank. I got the day off because of what happened… but normally, I work, I go out for dinner with a couple of friends afterwards and come home to watch TV and sleep. I barely knew Richard, or any of the other people in the building, but when I noticed his door open, I thought it was unusual. Then I saw blood and, when I went to check on him…" she trailed off, her eyes wide with fear.

The agents sighed, "Your sure you didn't notice anyone?" Rossi pressed, his eyes searching hers.

She sighed and shook her head, "No, I'm sorry. I didn't see anyone that I remember."

Rossi nodded, "Well, if you do remember someone, please don't hesitate to call. It could be vital to us catching Mr. Giles's killer."

* * *

Hotch let Detective Brass drive to the firm where Giles had worked, though he normally liked to be the one driving. He had sensed that Brass was the same way, and decided that, just this once, it wouldn't hurt for him to allow someone else to drive.

"Where is this firm?" He asked as the detective pulled onto the road and turned right.

"In Summerland, right outside of town, just east of here." Brass explained, speeding through a green light.

Summerland? Why did that seem so familiar? Hotch wondered, frowning out the window. He couldn't recall working any cases there… "What exactly do you think his co-workers can tell us anyway?"

"We need to know if any of them noticed someone unfamiliar around the building, or following Giles around. It's a long shot, considering how smart this unsub seems to be. He probably wouldn't stand out to anyone. He knows how to blend in, but it's still a possibility, and we have to check every lead we have." Hotch explained.

Brass nodded, "Alright." That, at least, made sense to him. No matter how small the lead, it was always worth following.

* * *

When they pulled into the parking lot of the firm, Hotch frowned. The place didn't look familiar, but there was something nagging him in the back of his mind. He shrugged the feeling away as he followed Brass into the building.

It was the same story Rossi and Prentiss had been told. No one had noticed anyone new hanging around in the office or parking lot. There hadn't been any strange phone calls, no one remembered seeing a new janitor or electrical worker. No one had seen the unsub at all.

Hotch sighed as they got back into the SUV. "This guy knows what he's doing, I'll give him that," he said tiredly as they headed back to the station.

Brass nodded, his eyes feeling heavy. They'd been at it all day, and while the FBI team had given them a lot more to work with, it still wasn't much. He wouldn't be happy until they had the bastard in handcuffs.


	7. Know Thy Enemy

**A/N: :) Thanks soooooo much for the reviews, comments story alerts and favorite adds! :) :) This story is working out to be my longest one yet btw... hopefully not too long. I think I'm almost finished writing it out, just gotta get the chapters onto the computer now. Don't worry, there is still lots more to come! - and I hope it's good! :)**

**WARNING: Uh, no violence, blood or spoilers... but there are tired profilers, some good news and ... some evil foreshadowing after a brief glimpse into the unsub's mind... **

**If I say "Pretty Please" will you review? I'll try anyway... PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW! :)**

Ch 7: Know Thy Enemy

Reid drew another narrow line on the map, frowning. It was clear from his face that he was deep in thought. Morgan sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching him. There really wasn't much for him to be doing at the moment, since Reid pretty much had the geographic profile covered.

"What exactly is he doing?" Warrick asked, moving to sit closer to the two agents.

"He's narrowing down the unsub's comfort zone." Morgan explained. "So that we have a better idea of where he lives. He won't kill too close to home, to avoid being caught, but he also won't be too far away from home either. Using the sites where the victims were killed, we can narrow it down and find the most likely area for the unsub to live or work."

Greg frowned, "It looks like he's just coloring in a map." he said, as Reid drew yet another line on the board.

"Pretty much, that's what he's doing." Morgan said.

"Didn't the blonde woman… Agent Jareau, say he was a doctor?" Warrick asked, still watching Reid connect dots.

"Yeah, he is." Morgan said, a grin spreading across his face. He'd been wondering when one of them would bring that up. He'd seen the shock on the CSIs' faces when JJ had said 'Dr. Reid'.

"Isn't he a little young to have gone to medical school?" Nick asked, raising a brow.

"They're PhDs." Reid said absently from the map. "Three of them; in Mathematics, Chemistry and Engineering."

The CSIs looked startled, almost forgetting that Reid was actually in the room since he'd been silent the entire time. Morgan chuckled at the shock on their faces. It was never not funny seeing how people reacted to Reid.

"Are you a genius or something?" Warrick asked, a grin starting to form on his face.

"I don't actually think that intelligence can be accurately quantified but I have and IQ of 187 and -"

"Yeah, the kid's a genius." Morgan interrupted him before he could go into full ramble mode. He saw Reid blush slightly from in front of the map, but he didn't actually turn around to face them, still more focused on the geographic profile.

"Wow." was all Greg could managed to say. He couldn't even begin to imagine being that smart. No wonder he'd said he didn't like jocks in high school… being that smart and that obviously unathletic would lead to major bullying.

"How long have you guys worked together?" Nick asked.

"A few years… Let's see, Reid you were, what 21 when you joined the bureau? That makes it about… nine years give or take." Morgan answered, thinking for a moment. "Wow. It doesn't feel like it's been that long."

"I was actually almost twenty-two when I joined the FBI." Reid answered. "It was about five months before my twenty-second birthday."

Morgan rolled his eyes, "Whatever, Pretty Boy. I'm sure you remember how long it's been right down to the number of days. Maybe even hours."

"Actually -"

"Kid, I don't wanna know, alright?" Morgan interrupted.

Reid frowned, turning around. "Fine." he muttered. "The geographic profile is finished. The unsub most likely lives or works in this area." he said, motioning to a small area on the map that was in the center of all the lines and dots.

"Good, I'll call Garcia and have her get us a list of suspects, and hopefully, JJ'll be ready with the press conference by the time Hotch and the others get back." Morgan said, pulling out his phone and calling Garcia.

"Queen of all Knowledge, how may I help you?" Garcia chimed over the phone.

"I need you to start looking for something, Baby Girl. White men, ages twenty-five to forty-five, working flexible hours, driving modest cars, whose father abandoned them. They'll be living somewhere between…" he glanced over at the map and called out the addresses. "I know it'll be a lot, hopefully once JJ gives the profile to the media, we'll have something more solid to work with."

"I will see what I can do, my handsome knight, but like you said, the list is going to be long. My lowest estimate would somewhere in the hundreds… I'll let you know if I find anything."

* * *

Grissom stared down at the blinking screen, not daring to hope he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. "Catherine! Sara!" He called down the hall, almost afraid to move, scared that if he did, the result would somehow disappear.

"What is it?" Sara asked, arriving seconds before Catherine did, both women looking thoroughly confused.

"We just got the results back from the hair sample Nick found in the apartment. And it wasn't a match to the victim." Grissom explained, motioning toward the screen.

Catherine blinked in disbelief. After all these months… She gaped at the screen. "The DNA isn't in the system?" she asked.

Grissom shook his head, "No, but now we have something to compare when we bring in suspects."

Sara grinned. This was what she had been waiting for. Not some pseudoscience full of guess work, but actual DNA evidence. She grudgingly admitted that the profile the FBI had come up with would probably help them narrow down suspects, but it be the DNA that Nick had found that would prove beyond any doubt who the killer was.

* * *

Hotch hung up the phone just as he and Detective Brass were re-entering the police station. Reid had finished with the geographic profile and JJ's press conference was about to start. He could only hope that it wouldn't take long to bring this unsub to justice, so he could go home to see Jack.

* * *

He sat on the couch, watching the press conference. A blonde woman, the caption under her image reading SSA Jennifer Jareau, was speaking to the public about him. He'd heard that the FBI had been called in to investigate the murders, but listening to the young woman talk, his stomach tightened. He wasn't sure if it was anger or fear. Everything she was saying described him… would his neighbors begin to suspect? No. None of them knew enough about him to suspect anything. He was just the nice young man next door who sometimes mowed the older neighbors' lawns when they couldn't.

Still, he didn't like this new turn of events. He didn't like it at all. Standing, he turned off the television and went over the computer in the corner of the room. If the FBI was going to be searching for him, he wanted to know everything he could possibly know about them. Right now, they were his enemy, and he wasn't planning on letting them outsmart him. Pulling up a search engine, his fingers quickly moved over the keyboard. The more he read, the more intrigued he became.

Each agent on the team was unique… all holding different qualities, having been through their own form of tragedy. He read about Agent Aaron Hotchner's wife being murdered by a man known as The Reaper; about Agent Prentiss and the time she'd been held hostage; about Agent Morgan and his extensive background in not only the FBI, but the Bomb Squad and Chicago PD; Agent Rossi and his role in the fledgling formation of the original BAU; Agent Jareau and her baby, Henry. It wasn't until he reached the information on Agent Reid that his interest was truly sparked, however.

As he read word after word and article after article on the young man, a smile flickered across his face. He put two and two together quickly, reading through his entire history like it was a novel of sorts. The smile grew somewhat deranged as a new target formed in his mind.

* * *

JJ yawned as she entered the small conference room, her eyes dangerously close to drooping. "How'd the press conference go?" Hotch asked as she sat down.

"Good." she said. "I think I got the profile across… now if we could just get something more to go on…" she shook her head, trying to clear her drowsiness.

Morgan laughed as her head almost fell to her chest for a second time, "Tired JJ?" he teased.

She suppressed another yawn, shaking her head. "No. Not at all."

Nick, who had been talking quietly on the phone in the back of the room, hung up and turned around. "Grissom said we've got DNA." he informed them, hope glistening in his eyes. "It's not in the system, but the hair we found in the apartment wasn't the victim's."

Warrick smiled, "Good thing you noticed it then."

"I wouldn't have if we hadn't taken Morgan, Reid and Rossi back by the place. It looked like was the same color as the victims."

Hotch nodded, "Good. That'll help when we find this guy. But right now it's late, and there's not much more we can do right now. We should just get some rest and meet back here in the morning."

The tired CSIs and profilers nodded. Warrick, Greg and Nick heading back to the lab to check on a few more things; JJ, Prentiss, Rossi, Hotch, Morgan and Reid headed to their hotel, tired after a long day.


	8. Searching for the Stressor

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! :) This story seems to be coming along pretty well so far... **

**WARNING: not really much to warn you about in this chapter... no blood, no violence (yet...) just a frustrated Garcia and some tension between the teams... just a sort of "informational" boring chapter really... next chapter things get... hmm... difficult... **

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

Ch. 8: Searching For The Stressor

Reid yawned as he took his seat next to Morgan at the conference table the next morning. He took a long drink from the styrofoam cup he clutched in his hands and looked up at the wall of victims. Something had been nagging him in the back of his mind ever since he'd done the geographic profile the day before, but he couldn't quiet figure out what.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Garcia's perky voice sounded over the speaker of the phone Morgan was holding. "Do you people have any idea how many men between the ages of twenty-five and forty-five had their fathers abandon them just in Vegas alone?" she demanded.

"No, Baby Girl, but I'm sure you're about to tell us," Morgan grinned, feeling a little better after the sleep. They still weren't much closer to finding the unsub, but a good night's sleep and a cup of coffee never failed to put him in a better mood.

"Somewhere around 4,739." Garcia muttered. "And that's just in the small area you gave me to work with. Imagine how many more there are out there - no, never mind. Don't. I need something else to narrow down this list, Morgan."

"Well, last night they got a match off of a hair left at the last scene. It was a reddish brown color, so cut anyone who has lighter hair." Morgan suggested. "Not that that'll be too helpful for us if the unsub dyes his hair… but I somehow doubt he will. The color wasn't false was it?" he asked, looking to Grissom, who sat across from him.

Grissom shook his head, "No, it was the natural color." he said.

Garcia was silent for a moment while she furiously typed, and then sighed. "Well, that brings us down to a grand total of 2,946." She informed them. "Seriously, you haven't got anything else for me?"

"Not yet, Baby Girl. But trust me, we're looking." Morgan promised.

She sighed, "Alright. I'll let you know if I find anything." she said, hanging up.

"Well, you'd think we'd be somewhere by now…" Rossi mumbled, shaking his head at the evidence board.

"I know." Hotch said, his eyes on the board as well. "We've narrowed down the geographic profile, we've found out why the unsub is targeting these men, we've had a press conference, talked to neighbors and co-workers… there was even a DNA match… but we still aren't any closer to finding this guy."

"He's smart." Prentiss said, "We probably won't catch this guy until he makes a mistake. He's bound to get sloppy sometime. After six murders, and his pattern of escalation, that time will probably be soon."

"Yeah, but that only helps us if there's another body," Reid pointed out. "Which there will be if we don't find him within the next couple of days."

"He might start to feel pressured," Morgan added, "The FBI is involved now. It might cause him to panic, slip up sooner."

Hotch nodded in agreement, "But it might also cause him to become more paranoid, more careful. That'll make it harder to find him unless the strange behavior causes someone to notice him for once."

Sara scowled, "So what you're telling us is that right now, you're totally useless." she said pointedly.

Morgan scowled, "No. What we're telling you is that even though we've developed a pretty clear picture of who this guy is, we still aren't very close to catching him because he's smart enough to not stand out from the crowd." he said, his eyes narrowing at the woman across the table. He was getting sick of her obvious attitude toward them.

Hotch glared at Morgan, Grissom glared at Sara. "They're here to help," Grissom told her, eyes burning into the side of her head when she turned away.

"Morgan," Hotch warned at almost the same time. That was all he really had to say to make Morgan sigh and nod apologetically to his boss. He knew the CSIs were just as frustrated as he was, but he hated not having anything to work with.

"We're missing something…" Hotch said after a few minutes of silence.

Prentiss frowned, along with Rossi, Morgan, JJ and the CSIs in the room. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"The stressor." Reid answered before Hotch could. "We still haven't figured out what caused this guy to start killing. We know _why_ he kills his victims, but what made him decide to do that?"

The profilers looked around at each other, surprised that they hadn't realized the obviously lacking information in the profile. Normally, the stressor was something they didn't figure out until later, but right now, it was pretty much their only hope of finding this guy.

"So we need go back to the time before the first murder, and see if any of those thousands of people on Garcia's list had any sort of trauma in their lives, maybe a confrontation with Dad that turned violent…" Rossi said slowly.

Morgan nodded, pulling his phone back out and dialing Garcia.

"What's a stressor?" Greg asked curiously. His head was resting on his arms, which were folded on top of the table. He looked incredibly bored.

"It's like the unsub's trigger," Reid explained. "What made him decide to start killing. A fight with his dad that fueled him with enough rage that he wanted to kill his own father, but instead ended up killing another bad father as a substitute to avoid getting caught. The death of the mother, which could have led him to be alone in the world, except for the father who wasn't there for him, also making him angry enough to begin killing substitutes. He probably thinks he's punishing the fathers while simultaneously doing the children a favor."

"Dude," Greg said slowly, taking in everything Reid had said. "How on earth do you talk that fast?"

Morgan hung up the phone after his call to Garcia, "It's all the sugar…" he said, flipping Reid's hair into his face playfully. "He's like the energizer bunny or something whenever he has too much sugar."

Prentiss shook her head, "No, it's not just the sugar," she said. "It's his brain. It works so fast he hardly has enough time to get all the words out."

Reid just blushed and sank further into his seat, "What did Garcia say?" he asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"She said she'll start looking, but stuff like a fight with dad would probably not be in the records unless it got really violent." Morgan answered. "Which means that for right now, we're still stuck."

Grissom sighed, "So you think she can narrow it down enough that we can have a few actual suspects?" he asked.

Hotch nodded, "Absolutely. It might take a little while, but we will get this guy. Our best chance is if he slips up in the next murder, but hopefully, Garcia will have something for us before then."


	9. The New Plan

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, story alerts and favorite adds :) :) Glad y'all are liking the story! This is the chapter where my mind started writing things w/o my consent and poor Reid is, once again, placed in a very bad situation...**

**WARNING: Some minor violence in this chapter and teensy spoilers for "To Hell..." and "...And Back" not much more than a mention of the case, but still...**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

Ch. 9: The New Plan

He sat in the parking lot, watching. Waiting. The day had so far been uneventful. The FBI agents hadn't gotten any closer to finding him, something he took great satisfaction in. And that meant that his new, ingenious plan, could move forward. As soon as his new target was alone… Perhaps it would be better to wait until he left work?

No one noticed the nondescript black car sitting in the crowded lot, or the young man sitting in the driver's seat behind the tinted windows. They didn't even glance twice as the man exited the vehicle and left it sitting there, walking calmly across the street to a coffee shop, where he ordered a drink and sat. Waiting. Soon his prey would be within his grasp. He could barely contain his excitement at the thought.

It had only been a couple of days - actually, less than two full days if he were being honest - since he'd killed, but he could feel the high slipping from him faster than usual. Which was why this new plan, this new idea, had already sent waves of adrenaline through his body at the very thought.

As he sat, waiting for his moment of opportunity, his mind wandered back to the first time he'd taken another's life. It hadn't been planned, had been even messier than usual, but he couldn't remember feeling so happy, so giddy with excitement in years.

He'd just lost his mother, the only real family he'd ever known since his good-for-nothing father had walked out on them, when he ran into Alexander Garner. He'd met the younger man briefly when they had attended the same college together, and knew about Alex's three year old son. While in his apartment, talking with him, he discovered that Alex hadn't been paying his child support and hadn't seen his son in almost two years…

The fury that had swept through him at the thought of another father who could so easily abandon his child, sent him into a blind rage. He hadn't meant to kill Alexander, but once he had, the feeling of immense power running through his veins had been so amazing, so all encompassing, that he'd had to do it again. And again.

Taking another long swallow of coffee, his eyes strayed to the building across the street, and the doors and walls that currently encased his newest target. _Soon, _he thought to himself with a grim smile, _it will all be perfect._

_

* * *

_

"We expanded our search for the DNA in the hair sample," Grissom explained to the profilers, "But we still haven't got a match. All we can say is he isn't in the system anywhere."

"Makes sense," Reid interjected. "An unsub this smart is unlikely to be a repeat offender. He wouldn't allow himself to get caught, he's too careful for that."

Morgan's phone buzzed again and he flipped it open, putting it on speaker, hopeful. It had been several hours and Garcia had still been sifting through her list, trying to narrow it down as much as possible. Still, they hadn't come up with anything new. "Talk to me, Sweetness," he said, sounding just a little desperate, "What have you got for me?"

Garcia grinned a flirty grin on the other end of the line, "Well for you, Hot Stuff, anything your heart desires." She quipped, her smile broadening at the chuckle from Morgan. "Unfortunately, that doesn't include a small list. I've got it narrowed down to 115 possible unsubs, though. I just sent the list to Hotch."

Morgan sighed, "Alright, thanks Baby Girl." he said, flipping the phone closed. How could they still be so far away from catching this bastard? It was almost the end of their second day in Las Vegas, and they had a good working profile, DNA evidence, a tip line set up and still nothing that felt remotely like progress was being made.

Hotch looked over the list and sighed, "We need to figure out what the stressor was." he repeated his earlier deduction. "But any one of these names could be our guy."

The profilers and the CSIs looked around at each other, all hoping that someone in the room would have some miraculous epiphany that would lead them to catch the killer before he killed again. All also tired after yet another day of digging with minimal results to show for their efforts.

After a few minutes of silence, Reid stood up, "I need coffee." he stated. "Anyone else want any?"

Nick laughed, looking at the younger man questioningly. "It's almost eight o'clock at night, kid." he said. "You really think you need coffee this late?"

Morgan grinned, shaking his head, "No, trust me, that boy can put away some coffee. And it's always loaded with sugar."

Reid rolled his eyes, ignoring him. "Does anyone want anything?" he repeated. "I'm gonna go to the café down the street. I can't drink police station coffee right now."

Greg immediately chimed in, "I could definitely use some caffeine right now," he said. As long as it wasn't coming from the nasty coffee pot the detectives used at the station, he was in.

Reid nodded and confirmed everyone's orders. He ignored both Morgan and Nick when they offered to help him. Only Greg, Hotch and JJ had wanted coffee, so he was sure he could carry the order by himself. Besides, he wanted some time to think alone. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, had been all day, and he hoped that the fresh air and quiet would help him figure out what.

* * *

He watched as his target climbed into his car, leaving work early for a change, he deduced. Grinning, he turned the key in his car, eyes lighting with a new energy as the engine purred to life and he followed his target home. He'd expected him to leave later, but this new change of events worked out even better for his plan. It gave him more time to drive back by the police station. More opportunity to set his plan into motion sooner.

He parked against the curve, across the street from the driveway that his target pulled into and exited the car carefully. He had to be extremely careful here; he'd never done anything like this before and he knew that complications were bound to arise.

The tall, lanky man stepped onto the pavement of the driveway, not noticing the younger man at first. When he did catch a glimpse of him, out of his peripheral vision, he frowned and turned to face him. Just in time for a hand to slam into the side of his head painfully, making his vision begin to blacken.

It didn't, however, knock him out completely. He managed a strangled scream for help before the unsub hit him again, effectively silencing him. Possessing more streagnth than most people would've guessed, he half carried, half dragged his target to the trunk of his car and shoved him inside, slamming it down and hurrying away from the house.

He had seen a neighbor's light come on when the man screamed, and he was desperate to get away from the house as quickly as possible. And to get to the police station and the next phase of his brilliant plan.

* * *

Reid walked to the coffee shop, hands in his pockets, still unsure of what it was that was bothering him. Something he noticed doing the geographic profile. Something that wasn't important to the case, he didn't think. If it was something like that, he probably would've realized immediately what his mind was trying to tell him. But nonetheless, he didn't like the feeling that there was something he was missing. And what was worse, since he'd woken up that morning, a feeling of dread had settled over him.

He'd once asked Hotch, during a very disturbing and tragic case in Canada, if he ever got the feeling a case wasn't going to end well. He'd had a pit of fear and dread in his stomach then that was exactly like the one he had now, only he wasn't quite sure where the feeling was coming from this time.

He tried to shrug the feeling away as he entered the coffee shop to place the orders. Nothing bad was going to happen. They'd hit a rough spot with the case, no big deal. It had happened before. He was certain that they could catch this guy. Trouble was, how many more lives would he take before they could? The odd feeling of dread was still there, threatening to overpower him, as he took the coffees and exited the shop.

* * *

He pulled in front of the police station, feeling his anticipation grow to frightening proportions. Then, almost as if fate was smiling in his favor, he saw the young agent exit the building alone. A smile crossed his lips as he noted the direction the man was walking in. The coffee shop down the block.

The streets were deserted around the small café this time of night. Mostly just older couples or teenagers hanging out in places they probably shouldn't be. He parked the car on the corner of the street and waited, knowing the agent would eventually walk back by the deserted alley on his way to the station.

About fifteen minutes later he saw the man round the corner, head down, coffees in hand. He slipped out of the car and ducked into the alley, waiting. The gun on the agent's belt might pose a problem, but if he could incapacitate him quickly enough, it wouldn't.

* * *

Reid carried the coffees carefully in his hands, still lost in thought. There was something he had noticed, something important. He just wished he knew what. He rounded the corner of the deserted sidewalk and put his head down, still thinking.

He didn't have much time to react when a hand reached out from a side alley and grabbed him around the neck, planting a hand firmly over his mouth to keep him from screaming. The coffee slipped from his hands and scattered across the pavement as he reached desperately for his gun.

Only to find, to his dismay, that his attacker had already managed to grab it from his belt in his moment of confusion. The gun was pointed at his temple and he stilled his struggling immediately, eyes widening in panic.

For a brief moment he thought his assailant was going to let him go as the gun was slowly drawn away from his head, but then panic set again as the gun was quickly brought back and slammed against the side of his skull, causing everything to go black as he sank down to the ground.

* * *

He put the gun in the waistband of his pants as the agent slid down to the pavement, a maniacal smile playing on his face. The only time he could remember being this happy was right after killing Alexander Garner. The fist and second parts of his plan now perfectly executed, he carried the unconscious agent to his car.

He was even lighter than he'd imagined, making it much easier to lift him as he slid him into the backseat of the car. He took the handcuffs from his belt and cuffed his hands behind his back as a precaution. The last thing he needed was for the agent to wake up and start fighting.

Practically giddy with excitement, he climbed into the driver's seat again and took off, desperately eager to get the third phase of his plan into action.


	10. Kidnapped

**A/N: Thanks so much for all of the reviews and comments! :) Glad you're all liking the story! :) Don't hate me for what will happen to Reid in next chapter, please! It's going to get pretty violent then...**

**WARNING: ugh. Poor Reid... not much to warn you about in this chapter... no real violence yet...**

**PLEASE REVIEW! :)**

Ch. 10: Kidnapped

Hotch glanced at his watch, frowning. Reid should've been back with the coffees already. What was taking him so long? He noticed that the young agent had looked slightly distracted when he'd left the station. Maybe he'd just gotten sidetracked.

"Where's Reid?" Prentiss asked, coming back into the conference room after a bathroom break.

"He went out a little while ago to get coffee." Morgan explained, twirling a pen in his hands.

"There's coffee here," Prentiss pointed out, taking a seat at the table. "Why'd he go out?"

"Because police station coffee sucks," JJ said with a grin. "He said he couldn't drink it anymore."

Prentiss laughed, "And here I thought he'd take any coffee as long as it as loaded with sugar and caffeine."

"Apparently not," Morgan said, grinning.

"Shouldn't he be back by now?" Warrick asked, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It had been almost thirty minutes and the coffee shop wasn't that far down the street. The profilers didn't seem too worried, but he had noticed Agent Hotchner glancing at his watch two or three times in the past few minutes.

"Knowing Reid, he probably got distracted." Prentiss said, leaning back in her chair.

"By what?" Morgan asked, raising a brow. "You're not suggesting Reid met a woman?"

Rossi grinned, "He probably met several. All of them hookers."

Morgan, Prentiss and JJ laughed and Morgan began explaining Reid's strange magnetism to prostitutes while Brass took a call, walking to the back of the room, and Hotch pulled out his phone, dialing Reid's cell number.

* * *

Reid's head felt like it was about to explode as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. Why did his head hurt so badly? Gingerly, he placed a hand to side of his head, eyes still closed, and felt something wet. Blood. Why was he bleeding?

Fractured memories of a hand clamped over his mouth, his gun being taken. Wait, his gun. He slowly cracked his eyes open and glanced down at his hip. His gun was gone. Checking his pockets, he realized his cell phone had been taken too. So where was he?

He shifted slightly, his eyes still trying to focus on the room around him, and a clinking, rustling noise turned his attention to his legs. There was a cuff attached to his right ankle, a chain leading from it to the wall behind him. What the hell?

He blinked a few more times and looked around the cold room - which he assumed to be a basement - trying to get his bearings. What he saw made his heart stop. He wasn't alone in the room. There were two other men across from him.

One, he assumed to be the man who abducted him, was leaning against the far wall, watching him intently. A eerie smile etched on his face. The other was unconscious, chained to wall in a similar manner. It wasn't the nasty bruise on the other man's face that sent chills down Reid's spine. It was his identity.

The man chained to wall opposite him was his father. William Reid.

* * *

Brass listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line, frowning. "You do realize that I'm trying to solve a serial homicide case," he said briskly. "I understand the importance of other crimes, yes," he practically snapped. "But right now, I've got six dead bodies and I'm hoping to prevent a seventh."

Sighing, he moved the phone to his other ear, "Yes, I do - Alright fine, I'll send a couple of CSIs to the scene. No, I don't think so… just send the closest unit there and wait for them. Take witness statements. I'll look it over in the morning." Scowling, he hung up the phone.

Hotch looked up, disappointed and worried, from his own failed call. Reid hadn't answered. "What was that about?" he asked, frowning at the detective.

"A call came in a few minutes ago reporting screams from outside a residential home. Grissom, could you send someone to the scene? They think it might be a kidnapping, but they're not sure yet."

Hotch tried Reid again, scowling when he still got no answer. "Who's the victim?" Morgan asked, curious. He needed something to distract him from the case. And from the odd pit of worry beginning to form in his stomach as he watched Hotch hit redial again.

"A lawyer. Works in Summerland. Name's William Reid." Brass said, sitting down at the table. Grissom was about to tell Nick and Warrick to go process the scene when he noticed the look on the FBI agents' faces. Something was wrong.

"That's Reid's father." Morgan breathed. Glancing toward Hotch he realized that he still hadn't been able to contact Reid.

Desperately, Morgan pulled out his phone and called Garcia. Before she could speak he said, "I need you to trace Reid's cell phone. Can you do it?"

Smile immediately evaporating at the worry in Morgan's voice, Garcia refrained from asking what was wrong for a few seconds in order to trace Reid's cell phone. "He's in a side street about half a block away from the police station." she said quickly. "Now what's wrong?" she demanded.

"We're not sure yet, Baby Girl, just hold tight. I'll call you back in a few minutes. I'm gonna go check this out."

"Check what out?" Sara asked, worry in her voice. She hadn't expected that. If she were being honest with herself, she was just as worried about Agent Reid as his friends were. He seemed so young and helpless, she couldn't help but wonder what could've possibly happened to him. But she didn't really want to be honest with herself. She didn't really want to admit that maybe the profilers were as good as Catherine had said they'd be. Still, even if she didn't like the profilers, she wasn't so cold as to want any of them to get hurt…

"Garcia traced Reid's cell phone location to an alley not far from here. I'm gonna go check it out. Maybe he just tripped and fell or something…" Morgan said, fear on his face.

"I'll go with you," Nick said, jumping up. In just the two days he'd spent with the profilers, he gotten to like the kid, and the idea of him being hurt sort of twisted his insides.

Grissom nodded, "Alright, then Greg and Warrick, you two head over to William Reid's home and see what happened there."

"Prentiss and Rossi, you two go with them." Hotch ordered. His face remained a mask of calm, but his eyes were wide and consumed with fear. Reid couldn't possibly be in danger again, could he?

* * *

Morgan and Nick practically ran down the nearly deserted street until they turned the corner and saw coffee cups and spilt coffee scattered across the pavement. A cell phone lay on the ground near the mouth of the alley, cracked.

"That's Reid's phone," Morgan breathed, shock and worry on his face as he frantically searched the surrounding area for any sign of his friend.

Nick knelt and picked up the phone with a gloved hand, flipping it open, "Four missed calls from Hotch," he said, looking at the FBI agent sadly. "There's blood on it. We should get it to the lab and see if we can pull any prints."

Morgan nodded slowly, still trying to process the fact that yet again Reid - his little brother in nearly ever sense of the word - had been kidnapped.

* * *

**E/N: Okay, so I realized something while I was writing last night, and it was that in the story, I never do explain that thing that was bugging Reid when he left to go get coffee... I guess it sort of slipped my mind, and instead of doing the "right" thing, I'm going to be lazy and just explain it right here. Sorry... Anyway, what Reid noticed, when he was doing the geographic profile, was that Richard Giles worked at the same law firm as his father did... but he only really glanced at the address of the place when marking it on the map, and so the connection wasn't really made in his mind... he wasn't thinking about his dad, but about the unsub and his victims... I apologize sincerely for not actually explaing this in the story...**

**Also, just so you know, next chapter will be violence, and the unsub will reveal his plans for Reid and William...**

**Thanks again for reading! :)**

**PLEASE REVIEW! :)**


	11. Sins of the Father

**A/N: Thanks yet again for all of the encouraging reviews and comments! :) This chapter is where Reid get's hurt... he was just kidnapped, but now... let's see what happens when Michael gets angry...**

**WARNING: Spoilers for "Memoriam" and... violence, blood. My poor Reid will be hurt in this chapter...**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

Ch. 11: Sins of the Father

Reid pressed his lips together as his vision cleared, and looked between his unconscious father and the man standing against the wall. What was going on? He knew it wasn't a coincidence that both he and his dad had been kidnapped by the same man, but was it possible that they had been kidnapped by some other psycho in Vegas, or was this the same man who was killing those men?

He watched warily as the man pushed himself away from the wall and approached him. "Dr. Reid, you're awake." He said, the smile never leaving his face. "I'd worried at first that hitting you with your gun had been a bad idea."

He knelt in front of Reid, looking him right in the eyes. Reid flinched away from him as the man's hand reached up to touch the wound on his head. He was holding a wet rag in his hand. "You're bleeding." he said slowly, "Be still for a second."

He gently cleaned the blood away from the wound before sitting back and staring at Reid again. There was something eerie in the man's eyes that made Reid want to shrink back even farther against the wall. "My name's Michael." he informed him, still watching him carefully.

Reid nodded slowly, "Ok, Michael… what exactly is going on?" he had to really work to keep the tremor from his voice.

Michael smiled again, reaching out and patting Reid on the side of the head like he was a child. When he spoke, he talked like he was talking to a child. "You'll find out soon enough, Dr. Reid. When your father wakes up, I'll tell you both."

Reid's eyes shifted back to his father again, worry clenching his gut. He had a feeling that whatever this guy was planning, it wasn't going to end well. That feeling of dread he'd had in his stomach seemed to multiply as he looked back at Michael, fear making his breathing seem difficult.

* * *

Morgan and Nick entered a very tense conference room. Nick had sent Reid's phone to the crime lab to be processed and then he and Morgan had headed back to the station in a very somber mood.

"What did you find?" Hotch demanded as soon as the two men walked in.

"Reid's not there." Morgan said. "We found the coffees scattered everywhere, his phone was on the ground, blood on it. It looks like someone attacked him."

JJ's hand went to her mouth when Morgan said they'd found blood. "Are you sure that it was Reid's blood?" she asked, eyes wide.

"No. We sent it to the lab to be processed. It'll be a little while before we know for sure whose blood it is." Nick explained, sitting down heavily at the table.

Brass hung up the phone, a grim expression on his face. "William Reid's car was found in his driveway, door left wide open; brief case, keys and cell phone still inside. He's nowhere to be found." he explained.

"Damn." Rossi muttered. "This is bad."

"So what's the deal here?" Brass asked Hotch, looking the man in the eye. "Is this just some freak incident or is this connected to the case?"

"It's probably connected to the case," Prentiss said. "It's highly unlikely that Reid and his father would be taken by two different attackers less than an hour apart."

"Ok, yes," Brass acknowledged, "But how does this tie in with our case?"

"Reid's father fits victimology," Hotch explained.

"How?" Grissom asked, frowning.

"When Reid was ten his father walked out on him and his mother. They haven't spoken in almost twenty years except for that one time a few years ago… when Reid pretty much accused his dad of murder." Morgan explained, looking around at the CSIs.

"What?" Nick blinked, surprised. "Are you serious?"

"The Riley Jenkins case," Rossi explained, nodding. "Reid had had nightmares about the kid's murder since he was child, and when he was here on another case, his dream changed and he saw Riley's murderer as his father."

"He decided he couldn't leave without learning what had really happened to Riley and well… it led us to finding out that Gary Michaels killed Riley, then Riley's dad killed Gary Michaels, and Reid's mom had been there when it happened." Morgan interjected.

"And that was the first time he'd seen his dad in seventeen years. And the last time he's seen him since." Prentiss finished explaining, a sad look on her face.

"So, when you said the kid had been through a lot, you weren't kidding." Nick said, shaking his head. "Wow."

"So it looks like our unsub must've found out that William Reid abandoned Reid… but what I don't understand is why kidnap them?" Morgan frowned again. "It doesn't fit his MO. He kills bad fathers… why not just kill William when he followed him home? It's what he did to the other six victims."

"And why take Reid?" JJ asked, tears already beginning to blur her vision. She couldn't believe Reid had been kidnapped. Not again. "He's not a father… he's a federal agent."

They all looked at each other, lost. What could possibly be the unsub's reasoning for risking taking an FBI agent? Morgan's phone buzzed and he suddenly remembered that he had yet to call Garcia.

Sighing, he flipped the phone open and braced himself for her hysterics as he explained what they'd found.

* * *

William was starting to wake up. Reid watched his father with apprehension. Michael hadn't spoken to him after cleaning the blood from his face. He'd just stood in the corner of the room watching them, ignoring Reid's attempts to get him talking.

When William finally lifted his head from the concrete floor beneath him he looked around in a panic. The first thing he saw was a young man, maybe thirty-five years old, standing in the corner of the room, watching him. The next thing was his son, chained to the wall opposite him, a nasty bruise beginning to form on his temple and a gash right on top of it. It took William a moment to realize that he was also chained the wall like his son.

"Spencer?" he whispered, his voice scratchy and garbled.

"Ah, Mr. Reid, you finally joined us." the man in the corner spoke, drawing his attention away from his son.

"What's going on?" William demanded, finding it somehow easier to talk to the man who had obviously brought him to this cold basement-like room than to even look at his son. Every time he did guilt would invade his body so swiftly he had to fight back tears of shame.

The man pushed himself off of the wall and approached him, "I'm glad you asked, William." he said, there was a bitter edge of contempt in the man's voice. "My name is Michael, not that that's of any real importance."

He stood between the two men and grinned, "And you are here, William, because you weren't a very good father to your son; I think it's about time that Spencer here finally gets to give you what you deserve."

Reid stiffened when Michael said his name. That feeling of dread begin and morph into a feeling of panic. This had to be the unsub… that was bad. Very, very bad.

Michael turned to face Reid again, still grinning. "Dr. Reid, you asked earlier what was going on. Well, I decided, after finding out that you suffered the same way I did - your father abandoning you and never looking back - that you deserved to share this feeling. I brought you both here so that you could have your revenge. I want you to kill your father."

Reid felt dangerously close to hyperventilating. "What?" he managed to choke out. "I - I can't kill my father. He's my father, Michael."

Michael's eyes were suddenly angry, his hand suddenly lashed out and caught Reid right on the side on his head, knocking him over again. "Yes you can!" he yelled. "He didn't love you! You can kill him! Make him pay for what he did. He deserves it!"

Blinking, coughing, Reid shook his head, "No, Michael. He doesn't. Listen to me, you know this isn't right. You have to let us go. You -" His words were cut off when Michael struck him again, this time in the nose.

Reid felt something crack and was instantly certain that his nose had just been broken. Breathing as deeply as he could, he winced and braced himself as Michael lunged at him again, holding him down to the concrete floor, slamming punches and kicks on his already weak body.

He did his best to fight him off, to turn away from the blows, but it wasn't much use. Michael was straddling him then, throwing punch after punch into his face. He could distantly hear his father begging Michael to stop, but Reid knew it was no use. The man was angry, and when he was angry, he became violent. The profile told him that much.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably no more than ten minutes, Michael stood, fists bloody and kicked Reid one last time in the stomach before glaring down at him and spitting in William's direction and leaving up a narrow stairway. The sound of a lock clicking sent chills down William's spine as looked at his son, barely conscious, on the floor across from him.

Testing the streagnth of the chain, William frowned and dragged himself across the room, glad to note that the chain, while very strong, was also long enough that he could reach his son. "Spencer," he whispered, placing a hand gently on his shoulder, fear pricking his eyes with tears. "Spencer." he repeated.

Reid whimpered and pulled away from his touch, eyes clenched tight. He couldn't feel any place on his body that didn't hurt. He rolled over and struggled to force himself back into a sitting position. He couldn't pass out. He was half convinced he had a concussion and he didn't want to risk blacking out with a head injury.

He slowly became aware of a hand on his shoulder as he sat up and jerked away again more violently, thinking at first that it was Michael. Then he heard his father's voice. "Spencer, calm down. It's me. It's your dad."

He opened his watery eyes and looked at his dad, a tiny smile finding its way to his face. He'd never thought he'd be so happy to see his father, but at that moment, he was immensely glad that he wasn't alone. Before he realized what was happening, his dad pulled him into a gently hug, sobbing, "I am so sorry, son." over and over again.

Reid tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault but his jaw hurt so much and his head was still swimming with disorientation from the beating, making words difficult to form. Instead he slowly wrapped his arms around his father, trying to control his breathing as he felt tears slip down his face.


	12. Instincts

**A/N: Thanks again to all of the wonderful people who reviewed, commented, alerted or favorited this story! :)**

**WARNING: More spoilers (small ones) for "Memoriam" and some major spoilers for the episode of CSI where Nick is kidnapped - I'm sorry I can't remember the name and I tried to look it up but my computer kept freezing! :( Also violence and blood...**

**PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW!**

Ch. 12: Instincts

"He's missing again…" Garcia's voice was barely more than a whisper, but Morgan could hear the tears in her eyes almost as clearly as he could hear the distress. "B-But, why? This guy's killing bad fathers right? Reid's not a dad!"

"No, but he had a bad father," Morgan explained gently, running a hand tiredly over his face and looking around the nearly empty halls; he had stepped out of the room to talk to Garcia. "We're not sure why yet, but it looks like our unsub took both Reid and his father."

"Y-you don't think…" she trailed off again, not allowing herself to voice her thoughts.

"No. If he wanted to kill Reid and his father, I think he would've done that already. He's got something else planned, we just don't know what." Morgan assured her. "We're going to find him."

"Okay… what do you need me to do?" she asked, trying to scrub the tears from her eyes. There would be time later to break down. Right now, she had to at least try to stay calm. For Reid.

"Just keep trying to narrow down the list. As soon as we have anything more, I'll call you." Morgan promised.

"Alright. And Morgan," she said quickly, before hanging up. "Bring my baby home,"

Morgan smiled, "You know I will." he said, hanging up and leaning against the wall tiredly. Why was it always Reid? He thought bitterly. Hadn't the kid been through enough in his life?

"Morgan?" Morgan looked up, surprised to see Nick and Warrick standing there. He'd expected Hotch, or maybe Prentiss, but not them. "You alright?" Nick asked, frowning at the FBI agent.

"I'm fine… just kind of tired of this stuff happening." Morgan explained. "This is the second time he's been kidnapped…"

Warrick's eyes widened, "He's been kidnapped before?" he asked.

"Yeah, a few years ago, by an unsub with Dissociative Identity Disorder. He was tortured for two days… but we found him. We'll find him this time too."

Nick and Warrick nodded, "I'm gonna go talk to Grissom," Nick said, looking at Morgan almost guiltily. He really wished he'd went with the kid to get the coffees… something had told him that it wasn't a good idea for him to be going alone.

Warrick watched his friend go back into the conference room before turning back to Morgan, noticing the look of guilt in the agent's eyes. "You know it's not your fault, man." he said slowly.

Morgan looked at the other man surprised, "What?"

"I know what guilt looks like… and I know when your best friend is in trouble, you blame yourself."

Morgan would've laughed if he didn't feel so damn depressed. "How would you know that?" he asked.

"A few years ago…" Warrick frowned, looking down at the floor for a second before looking back up at Morgan. "Nick was kidnapped. There were two jobs that came in that night, and we flipped a coin to see who had to do what… Nick sort of got the bad end of the deal. Turns out it was a setup to kidnap a CSI. He was buried alive, with a bomb underneath the casket he was in, and a gun inside. The guy actually put a camera in the box with him so we could see what was going on… The only thing that kept going through my head was that it could've been me… and if he didn't make it… it would've been my fault."

Morgan's eyes widened, "Wow that … that's terrible. But… it wasn't your fault. It could've been any one of you."

Warrick nodded, "Yeah, I know. But how often is guilt rational?" he asked, a small, sad smile on his face.

Morgan sighed, "I should've gone with him. He really is a magnet for trouble. It was bad enough the first time he was kidnapped… it was bad when he got shot, when he almost got blown up… or any of the numerous times he's had a gun to his head. This time, I know if I had gone with him, he would still be here."

"But you can't predict the future," Warrick said slowly. "And it's not your fault some psycho decided to take him. I've only known you guys a couple of days, but from what I've seen, your team is good. You'll find him and the bastard that took him."

Morgan nodded slowly, hearing the logic and truth in the other man's words, but finding it difficult to apply the words to the situation. He knew it wasn't actually his fault that Reid was missing, but he couldn't help but feel guilty for 'letting' him get kidnapped.

* * *

William gently sat back and let his arms fall back to his side, feeling uncomfortable around his son. Reid looked at his father then, his head, ribs and stomach throbbing. He wasn't sure exactly how he felt seeing his father there.

After all, his dad hadn't exactly been there for him when he needed him before. It had been awkward and strange to feel his arms wrapped around him. But it had also been oddly comforting to finally have his father holding him the way he should have all those years ago when he came home from school, tears in his eyes after being bullied and picked on.

"Are you alright?" William asked gently, not sure what else to say.

Reid had the strangest urge to shake his head and say _"Of course I'm not alright!" _But instead he just shrugged, the only movement he could really make with jolting pain searing through him and said, "I've been better."

William smiled, "Do you know why we're here?" he asked.

"Besides Michael wanting me to kill you?" he asked, trying to shift to a more comfortable position. "All I can tell you is that he's a serial killer… whose father most likely abandoned him, so now he's taking it out on other bad fathers."

"Wait, is he the same man who killed those other men?" William asked, fear sparking into his eyes.

"Yeah." Reid said slowly "That would be him."

"Oh, God." William whispered, his voice breaking. Reid could see the terror in his eyes and could almost see what his father was thinking.

"He's not going to kill you, Dad." he said slowly. "He wants me to do it. Don't worry… I'm sure my team is looking for me. They'll find us."

His father met his eyes for a moment and then asked, "Did you mean it?"

Reid frowned, "Mean what?"

"When he told you that I deserved to die, you said that I didn't. That you couldn't kill me because I was your father." William said slowly. Did you mean that?"

Reid blinked, completely taken off guard by the question. "Of course I did." he said. "I mean… you might not have been the greatest dad, but… but that doesn't mean I want to kill you."

William nodded, "But you are angry," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. He knew that Spencer was angry at him for what he had done. He had every right to be angry at him. He'd walked away from his son and wife with little more than a glance back.

Reid looked away from his father for a moment before nodding, "Yeah… I was angry. But right now, I'm just sort of… in pain."

William sighed, "This is my fault."

"What?" Reid frowned again, now completely confused. How could this possibly be his father's fault?

"If I hadn't walked away, if I had been there, been the father that I should've been, this wouldn't be happening right now." William said guiltily.

Reid shook his head, "No, Dad, this isn't your fault. It was your fault you left, your fault I grew up without a father, but it isn't your fault that some psycho decided to kidnap me. I seem to attract danger…"

His father smiled slowly, hearing a strange mixture of anger and compassion in his son's voice. He was about to say something else when they heard the lock click at the top of the stairs and Michael entered the basement again.

Michael glared at William, "Get away from him." he snapped coldly. William looked from Michael to Spencer, panic beginning to set back in. But on top of the panic was something William hadn't felt in a long time. He knew that he should probably move before Michael got angry again, but he couldn't bring himself to leave his son's side. His parental instincts, that he'd buried so long ago, were surfacing again and even though Spencer was an adult, he was also in pain. He couldn't leave him, even to go to other side of the room.

Michael scowled when William didn't move. "I said move!" he yelled, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder and half tossing him to the opposite wall. William's head banged painfully into the concrete and he felt blood trickle down the side of his face.

Ignoring William's painful gasp, Michael knelt in front of Reid again. He had carried a bowl of water with a wet rag and a first aid kit down into the basement with him. Reid watched warily as Michael gently put the rag to his head and began to once again clean blood from his face.

Wincing, Reid, managed to stay in an upright position and tried desperately to get Michael to listen to him. "I think my ribs are broken." he said slowly… "I really need to see a doctor, Michael. I might have a concussion too. Please, just let us go. We don't even know where we are -"

"Shh." Michael whispered gently. He was so much calmer now than he'd been earlier. It was like he was a completely different person. "Be still, I've got to clean you up before I can help. I'm sorry I hurt you. My temper gets away from me sometimes. You'll see… eventually, you'll understand why you have to kill your father."

Reid bit his lip and shook his head, "No, Michael, I won't. I don't want to kill my dad. I can't do that."

Michael frowned, anger lighting his eyes again, but to Reid's relief he didn't hit him. He grabbed his jaw and forced his head still instead. "I said be still." his voice was dangerously soft then. "I need to set your nose." he informed him. "It's broken."

Reid braced himself for the pain as Michael put his hands on either side of his face and pressed against his broken and bloody nose. He felt something scrap and snap inside of his head and cried out at the pain, but instantly he felt like he could breath again.

"Better?" Michael asked, leaning back and returning to his earlier job of cleaning blood off of Reid.

Reid nodded slowly, not sure what to say at the moment. First, Michael had kidnapped him, then he'd beaten him nearly unconscious, and now he was taking care of his injuries like it was completely normal.

When Michael began to gently press against the bloody wound on his temple Reid took another chance to convince him to let them go. "Michael, you have to know how risky this is. I'm an FBI agent… and my team is looking for me. You should just let us go… I really need to see a doctor."

Michael removed the wet cloth from his face and scowled at him. "Shut up." he snapped, putting the cloth back into the bowl of water. "You'll be fine. I already told you, you have to kill your father. Once you do that, I'll let you go."

Reid shook his head, tears in his eyes, "I'm not going to kill my father, Michael. I can't."

William, who had been watching with apprehension suddenly spoke up. "Just kill me, Spencer." he said quietly. "It's my fault you're here anyway." He was surprised to hear himself say anything, especially that. He didn't really want to die, but if it would keep his son from getting hurt again, he was willing to face death.

Reid looked at his father with confusion in his eyes, "What?" he whispered.

"See," Michael said, looking at William instead of Reid, "Even your father knows he deserves to die."

Reid shook head again, "I told you, Michael. I can't kill him. No matter what he did, he's still my father."

Michael's eyes were angry again when he turned back to face Reid. Reid shrank back from the glare, recognizing the look. "You can and you will." he said venomously, his fist making contact roughly with Reid's chest, putting painful pressure on his already broken and bruised ribs.

Reid closed his eyes as Michael aimed another kick in his direction. He tried to ignore the beating, just praying silently that the team would find him before it was too late.


	13. HeartToHeart

**A/N: Again, thanks to all of the amazing reviewers! You peoplez make me smile! :) And now... I think Reid and his dad could use some 'father-son bonding time' ... even if they are trapped in a basement, chained to a wall by some psychotic killer...**

**WARNING: some more small spoilers for "Memoriam" b/c I just keep thinking of that episode in my head whenever I think of Reid's dad... and violence (not as bad a before though...)**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

Ch. 13: Heart-to-Heart

Morgan sat back down at the conference table, tired and angry. He'd been searching through file after file, trying to figure out if one of the more than a hundred names Garcia had sent them was the unsub. He tried not to think about what could be happening to Reid at that very moment, wherever the unsub had taken him… then he frowned.

"Hotch, this guy would have to have privacy, wherever he took Reid and his father, right? But he probably wouldn't keep them inside of his comfort zone, not with how careful he is and how paranoid he's likely becoming." He said, looking at his supervisor desperately.

Hotch blinked, wondering why he hadn't thought of that earlier. "Call Garcia. Tell her to narrow down the list and send us the names of everyone on it who had access to a house or a building that's outside of the comfort zone."

Morgan nodded, finally feeling like he was doing something. It had been almost ten hours since Reid had been taken… "Baby Girl, I think we might have something." he said quickly. "The unsub has to have access to a building or a home for privacy. Outside of the comfort zone. Can you narrow down the list with that?"

"Give me a second," Garcia said, typing frantically. She scrubbed angrily at the tears in her eyes. "Uh, yeah… the list just got a lot smaller. Only ten of the people on the list have access to property outside of the comfort zone. I'm sending you the names now."

Morgan smiled, sighing in relief. "Thanks, Baby Girl. I'll call you as soon as we have our genius home."

"You better," Garcia cautioned, tears still leaking from her eyes. She couldn't even imagine them not finding Reid in time. The thought was too painful.

* * *

Catherine looked sadly down at the result on the screen. They hadn't been able to pull any prints off of Reid's cell phone other than his own and now she stared at the DNA match sadly. She'd somehow deluded herself into hoping that the blood wasn't Dr. Reid's… he seemed so sweet… he didn't deserve this.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and called Grissom, who was still back at the station. "Hey, Grissom. We got a match on the blood on the phone. It was Agent Reid's. There weren't any prints though."

Greg came in looking somewhat hopeful, "Find anything?" he asked, eyeing Reid's cell phone sitting on the table.

"Just that the blood was Reid's." Catherine informed him sadly. "I'm heading back to the station. I'll give you a lift."

Greg nodded almost numbly. He had noticed that everyone on the team seemed to have been hit hard by Agent Reid's kidnapping. He didn't pause to wonder why. He just knew that in the short time he'd known the agent he'd felt like he'd made a friend and now… he was in danger. Somehow that seemed extremely unfair for a person who spent their life trying to save other people.

* * *

William sat on the concrete floor, his head aching, and watched again while his son was beaten. "Stop!" he yelled at the man, tears of anger spilling in his eyes. "Leave him alone!"

Michael didn't seem to hear him though. But eventually, he stood back up and stepped away from Spencer, his eyes calmer. He took several deep breaths and sank down in the corner of the basement, staring at the ceiling.

William watched helplessly as his son pushed himself back against the wall, leaning his head back and wincing. There was blood running from his lip, his left hand already looked swollen and every breath he took seemed ragged.

"Spencer," William said gently, glancing cautiously at Michael. "Spencer can you hear me?"

Reid looked at his father and nodded slowly, "Yeah." he said weakly. "I can hear you, Dad."

William took a deep breath, nodding, before turning to Michael again. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded. "He never did anything to you. Why are you hurting _him?_"

Michael glared at him, "Because he's being stubborn." he responded. "He doesn't understand that he'll feel so much better once he kills you."

William felt an odd pit of fury form in his stomach. "He'll feel better when you let him go. He needs a doctor. You could kill him!"

Michael glared at him, "Shut up." he snapped, anger burning in his eyes again. "I already told you both, when he kills you, he can leave."

"Just take him to a doctor," William said sharply. "Kill me, I don't care, but please, just help him."

"Dad stop," Reid spoke suddenly, his voice a strained whisper. "He's not going to listen."

Michael looked over at the beaten profiler and stood again, approaching him. Reid stiffened and tried to push himself away as Michael knelt down in from him just like he had before. "You're right about that, Dr. Reid. I'm not going to listen… I told you, you have to kill your father. You'll feel so much better once you do."

Reid shook his head sadly, "Michael, I can't kill my father." he said pleadingly.

Michael held up his hand, "Shh. I get it. You're nervous… but trust me, I won't let him hurt you, Dr. Reid. You'll come around. You'll understand." He reached to the side and pulled the cloth back out of the bowl, draining it before putting it to Reid's head again and cleaning away the blood.

Reid bit his lip to keep from screaming that he wasn't worried about his father hurting him. He sat there silently, not wanting to say anything that would make Michael angry again. His breathing had gotten more labored after the last beating… he worried that maybe one of his broken ribs had pierced his lung. He didn't want to think about what that would mean for his survival odds.

It seemed like forever before Michael had finished cleaning away the blood and rebandaging the gash on his head. Then his took Reid swollen left hand and prodded it gently. "It's sprained." he said after a minute.

He carefully fashioned a make-shift splint on the hand and sat back. "Better?" he asked again, just like he had after he'd set his nose.

Reid nodded slowly, eyeing him warily. "Yeah," he said weakly. He was still trying to gauge Michael's drastic mood swings. It was a wonder the guy hadn't started killing sooner… he wondered vaguely what had caused him to kill that first time, but didn't want to ask. He didn't want to do or say anything to Michael at all at this point.

Michael stood, "You're probably hungry," he said frowning. "I'll be right back."

They watched him leave, listened as the lock clicked at the top of the stairs. As soon as he was sure he was gone, William dragged himself back over to his son. "Are you alright?" he asked again, looking over his son beaten body with terror in his eyes.

"No." Reid choked out. "I think… I think one of my lungs was punctured." he said. "My wrist is sprained, most of my ribs are broken, I have a concussion… and God-knows what else."

William pressed his lips together, unsure of what to do. He leaned himself against the wall next to his son. Old memories were beginning to flash through his mind of Spencer as a younger child, waking up terrified in the middle of the night after having nightmares. He hadn't really known what to do to make him feel better then… "I'm sorry," he said again. "I never called… or wrote. I just walked away. I'm sorry."

Reid frowned, turned as carefully as possible and faced his father, "What?" he asked.

"Michael… he's right about one thing." William said. "I was never a good father to you. I just… couldn't do it anymore. I was a coward. Like I told you last time you were here, I just couldn't do it anymore."

Reid stared at his father, feeling a strange mixture of anger and sorrow as he listened to his dad talk. He'd gotten over most of his resentment toward his father during the Riley Jenkins investigation, but they'd never really talked except for a brief conversation after his mother had revealed what she remembered about Riley's murder.

"I needed you," Reid said, thinking it was an odd place to have a heart-to-heart with his dad. But also thinking, in very back of his mind, that this could be their only chance to have this conversation. "So many times I needed you and you weren't there. I thought… when you left I thought it was because you didn't love me. That you didn't care about me. But I had to take care of Mom, so I tried not to think about it."

He paused, tears threatening to overwhelm him again. "You remember the nightmares I used to have?" he asked in a small voice, sounding very much like a child again.

William nodded, "Yes," he said slowly.

"After you left… they got worse. Only this time, you weren't there to wake me up and tell me it would be alright. Half the time Mom was having one of her episodes so she wasn't exactly comforting. I know she loves me, but…" he trailed off, looking back into his father's eyes.

William looked away, sad. "I'm sorry, Spencer. I didn't realize… I mean, I tried, I really tried to keep us together, but it was too much. You were so much smarter than I was … I thought…" he paused, frowning. "I guess I didn't think. I was a coward. I figured you didn't need me… and I ran away."

Reid nodded, remembering his father saying much the same thing the last time he'd spoken to him. The two of them sat there, talking like that, for almost a half hour. Reid kept thinking about how strange it was that they were finally having this conversation, locked in a basement with a serial killer, but he was glad that they at least were having the conversation. Glad that he wasn't alone.


	14. Closing In

**A/N: Thanks sooo much for sticking with this story! I love every single one of you! :) Thanks sooooo much for the reviews and comments! This was supposed to be the last chapter, and then maybe an epilogue, but my mind goes AWOL a lot and starts writing things I never gave it consent to do, so this chapter ended up NOT being the end, but there will probably only be a couple more chapters...**

**WARNING: Sadly, there is more violence and blood in this chapter... but no spoilers...**

**PRETTY, PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW! I'll give you an imaginary zombie pony ('cause those are the best kinds) named Kylie to eat your enemies' brains if you do! :) :)**

Ch. 14: Closing In

"We've got ten names now," Hotch said hopefully, eyeing the list that Garcia had emailed. "That should be easier to narrow down…"

"Alright…" Prentiss frowned, "Here's one. Jason Matheson. His father abandoned him and his mother when he was eleven. Apparently a few months before the murders started he and his father got into a nasty fight about his mother's health… his dad was in the hospital for weeks."

"Could be our guy," Rossi commented, "But if he already got into a fight with his dad, why not finish what he'd started? I think this unsub is… scared to confront his dad. He's been killing substitutes."

"Your right…" Morgan said, looking over the file in his hands. "Which eliminates four these names. The other six haven't confronted their dads."

The four files were laid aside. "Ok, what about this one: Peter Jacobs, father left him when he was three. His mom died three months ago of a stroke. Never mind," he said, laying the file aside. "He and his dad got into a fight that turned violent at the funeral."

"Which leaves us with five names," Grissom pointed out, "How likely to do you think it is that he's on this list?"

"Very likely," Hotch answered. "I'm certain that our unsub is one of these five men, we just have to figure out which one."

Sara frowned, reading through the file in front of her, "What about Kevin Landing?" she asked, "His dad left him with his aunt when he was six, and two months ago she was killed in a car accident."

The profilers and CSIs looked at her surprised. She hadn't exactly made it a secret that she didn't trust profiling. "That could be him," Prentiss said, eyes lighting with hope.

"His aunt had a house just outside of the city," Grissom said, reading over her shoulder.

"Alright, put that in the pile." Hotch nodded, still reading over his own file. "Let's keep looking."

"Hey, wait a minute," Morgan said, "Michael Bradley. His dad left when he was nine, his mom died about two and a half months ago." He frowned. "Damn…" he muttered.

"What is it?" JJ asked, looking at him worriedly.

"He went to the same college as the first victim, Alexander Garner." Morgan said.

The profilers locked eyes. "Where does he live?" Hotch asked.

"He lives right inside the comfort zone, works as a repair man… but his mother left him a house far outside the city, about two hours from here." Morgan read from the file.

"You think he's our guy?" Brass asked, noticing the look of desperate hope in the agents' eyes.

"He could be. It's unlikely that he would know one of the victims personally, especially the first victim, and not be the unsub." Hotch said.

"Then let's go," Brass said, anticipation lighting his eyes. He was ready to catch the bastard who had made his life hell for almost three months.

The profilers all stood, preparing to leave. They paused at the door, surprised when Grissom spoke up, "We'd like to go with you," he said.

Hotch turned to face the CSI team, frowning. Every single one of them had the same look of hope and determination on their faces. He briefly recalled the varying degrees of acceptance and contempt that they'd originally had for them. He had to stop himself from smiling. Reid really did grow on people…

"Do you have any experience with this sort of thing?" Hotch asked.

"We've been trained to shoot," Grissom said, a small smile on his face. "We had to go through pretty much the same training you did. We've dealt with bad situations before, Agent Hotchner."

Hotch nodded, "Normally, I wouldn't allow it, but alright. Just stay back and be careful."

* * *

When Michael descended the stairs again he was holding a bowl of warm soup and a spoon. An angry scowl crossed his face when he saw William sitting next to Reid again. "I thought I told you to stay over there," Michael snapped, motioning to the opposite wall with the jerk of his head.

William stared back at the man with more hatred than he could remember feeling for any one human being in his entire life. "He's hurt. He could be dying… and he's my son. I'm not just going to sit there and watch while he suffers."

Michael looked furious at the words, "But that's exactly what you did." he snapped. "You left him all alone with a mentally ill mother when he was ten. I know. I read enough about it in articles and papers online. You were never a father to him. You shouldn't have the right to call him your son."

Reid could feel so much anger boiling inside of him at that moment, he wished that he could stand up, that he wasn't so tired and weak… he wanted to scream at Michael and yell and … so many other, more imaginative things… but he could barely breathe.

"Michael, listen to me," he said desperately. "No matter what he did, he is still my father. Nothing he does will ever change that. Yes, he hurt me when he left, but that doesn't mean he deserves to die. He might not have been a dad to me, but I can't hate him forever because he made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes."

Michael sat the soup down and shook his head, "Fathers shouldn't leave their children. It's their responsibility, their duty, to be there for them. Your father wasn't there for you. You should hate him. You should want to kill him."

Reid shook his head again, "No, Michael, I shouldn't. I was angry at him for… so many years. I did hate him… but holding onto all of that anger, all of that hurt, it only caused me more pain. More pain that it was worth. I had to let go. You need to let go too, Michael. Your dad probably didn't even mean to hurt you."

Michael's eyes were livid by this point, "Yes he did!" he yelled. "He hurt me, just like your dad hurt you, but you're too blind and scared to see it! That's not something you just let go of, Dr. Reid!"

Reid gritted his teeth, taking another pain laced breath, "Michael, please, just let us go. I'm hurt… very bad. I _need _to see a doctor. I need to go to a hospital. So does my dad. He probably has a concussion from when you hit him, and if not, then from when you threw him against the wall… please, Michael."

Michael shook his head, his fist tightening. Reid could tell he was losing his grip on his temper, but he had to keep pressing him. He knew that as long as he was focused on him, he wouldn't consider just killing his father and dumping him somewhere… "You don't understand." Michael spat. "You should, but you don't. I will never forgive my father for what he did to me, and you would know that I'm right if you would just _kill your father!"_

"Michael, I can't -"

"Spencer, just do it." William interrupted him, looking at his son pointedly. He could see the agony on Spencer's face every time he breathed, ever time he moved. And he could see the fury in Michael's eyes that told him he was about to get violent again. He couldn't watch him hurt his son, not another time.

"Dad?" Reid looked at him confused. "No. I can't."

"If it'll get you out of here alive, then you have to. You need to get to a hospital. Like you said, your lung could be punctured… that's a very serious injury. Please, just kill me so he'll let you go." William pleaded.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Reid might've smiled. It had taken nearly twenty years, but his father was finally acting like a dad. It must be true that it was never too late to be there for the people you love… "No." he said sternly. "I won't do it, Dad. It doesn't matter what happens, I can't kill you."

Michael let out a furious scream and grabbed William by the collar of his shirt, tossing him to the other side of the room. Blood trickled from the side of his head that collided with the wall and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. "Why. Won't. You. Kill. Him?" Michael demanded through clenched teeth. "He wants you to kill him! He said so himself!"

Reid pushed himself as far away from the man as the wall and chain around his ankle would allow, "He said that so that you would let me go. He cares more about my life than his own." Reid pointed out, eyeing Michael's tightened fists warily.

"No he doesn't!" Michael bellowed, kicking Reid painfully in the abdomen. Reid thought angrily that if he hadn't had a punctured lung before, he did now. Another kick caught him in the side of the head as he fell sideways and slumped to the floor, curling up as easily as he could and trying to turn away from the blows. Would this nightmare ever end? He wondered desperately as Michael punched him in the jaw and pressed his foot painfully onto his sprained wrist.

_Damn… that wrist is broken now._ Reid thought idly. He could feel his breathing rasp and jerk, could feel his head swimming and he knew exactly what was happening when his vision began to blacken. He'd been fighting unconsciousness for the past hour. Finally, the pain became too much and he simply let the darkness overtake him.

* * *

Morgan pressed his foot harder onto the gas peddle. They were still so far away, he shuddered at the thought of all that could happen to Reid in the next hour before they would arrive at the house. He refused to let his mind go too far though… Reid could _not _die. That was something he would never allow.

Nick, Rossi and Prentiss were in the SUV with him. They all had similar looks of desperation and hope. Reid had been through bad things before and came out of them fine… he would make it this time. He had to. But Rossi, sitting in the passenger seat, couldn't help but think that maybe this time would be that one time too many as his hand gripped the door handle tightly.

Silently, the three passengers willed Morgan to drive faster, prayed that they would not be late. No one spoke though. Tension was almost visible in the car as they sped around a corner, a few miles closer to finding their friend.


	15. Rescued

**A/N: Alright, we're almost at the end of the story... next chapter was SUPPOSED to be the last, BUT it's not. So there will be at least two more chapters... thanks sooooo much for the reviews and comments and everything! :) :)**

**WARNING: this chapter is kinda sad... sorry... no more violence, and I don't think there are any spoilers...**

**PRETTY, PRETTY, PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW! :) Those zombie ponies should be arriving anytime for those of you who reviewed last chapter :) I sent them through UPS... **

Ch. 15: Rescued

Michael was upstairs, pacing angrily in the living room. Curses flying out his mouth at random. His fist tightened and he slammed a hand into the wall, effectively denting the wood and plaster. He didn't care. He whirled back around and repeated his angry strides across the room and back.

Why was the agent so damn reluctant to kill his father? The man had never been there for him, had abandoned him when he was only ten, left him with a mentally ill mother… Michael hated William Reid, but it seemed as if his son, the person who _should _be angry at him, didn't hate his father.

He could only think of two reasons why Agent Reid wouldn't kill his father - perhaps a combination of the two. Either the man's morals wouldn't let him take another life, even the life of a person who clearly deserved to die, or he was scared of his father… which suggested a whole other list of things to hate about William…

He was so caught up in his angry pacing and muttering that he didn't hear the rumble of engines as SUVs carrying five distraught and pissed FBI agents, one very angry detective and six extremely anxious, determined CSIs pulled into the yard.

* * *

Hotch skidded to a stop in the barren yard and nearly jumped out of the SUV, JJ, Greg and Catherine right behind him. Morgan pulled in beside him and he, Nick, Prentiss and Rossi were out of the vehicle quickly.

Right behind them, Detective Brass, carrying Grissom, Sara and Warrick stopped. They'd called the paramedics on their way to the house as a precaution. Hopefully, they wouldn't need them.

"Morgan, you and Prentiss come with me. JJ, Detective Brass and Rossi, you go around back." Hotch ordered. "And Grissom, I want you and your team to wait out here. And be careful. This man is intelligent and violent."

Grissom nodded. The CSIs looked disappointed that they couldn't accompany the agents into the house, but they were glad that Agent Hotchner had at least allowed them to go with them this far.

* * *

Michael frowned when he heard voices outside and crept slowly toward the front door. He didn't have time to get there however, when the door was kicked down by a very angry look black man. He recognized him as Agent Morgan, one of the men on Agent Reid's team… damn it.

He whipped Reid's gun from his belt and pointed it at the agents, eyes angry and panicked.

"Drop the gun." Another agent said. Agent Hotchner, he recognized him too. "Now, Michael." he ordered.

Michael shook his head, "No." he said. "You drop yours." His mind was racing. He had no idea how he was going to get out of this situation… his car was out back. If he could just managed to get out the back door…

"Drop it, Michael." Agent Morgan warned, his finger tensing over the trigger. He'd recognized Reid's gun immediately. "You've got nowhere to go, man."

"Michael," that was the woman, Agent Prentiss. "Just put the gun down now."

His eyes darted between the agents, he glanced behind him briefly before turning back to face them. If he could just make it to the back door… He began to edge his way slowly backward, eyes still locked on the agents in front of him. As he took another half step back, he felt something cold at the base of his neck. "I wouldn't if I were you," a man's voice said. There was a steely hatred in the voice that almost scared Michael.

Two more agents edged their way into the room, on either side of him. The blonde woman, Agent Jareau, and the older man, Agent Rossi. That must mean Detective Brass had the gun to his head. He swallowed and glanced around the room. There was nowhere for him to go now.

He could start shooting, but that would inevitably lead to his death. Slowly, he lowered the gun and sat it gently on the floor at his feet. He was immediately swarmed. Detective Brass yanked his arms behind him and tightened handcuffs around his wrists.

"Where are they?" Agent Morgan demanded, hate glistening in his eyes. "Where are they you son of a bitch?"

Michael just smiled slightly and looked toward the basement door, saying nothing as the detective informed him of his rights and told him he was under arrest for the murder of six men, plus the kidnapping of a federal agent and a civilian.

* * *

Nick looked up expectantly as Brass came through the front door of the house, gripping Michael Bradley by the arm. He shoved him into the back of one of the SUVs, slammed the door and glared at the man through the tinted glass.

"Did they find them?" Nick asked, frowning.

"I'm not sure. They went to check the basement. Paramedics are on their way, right?"

"Yeah, Agent Hotchner called them on the way up here," Greg explained. "Why?"

"I have a bad feeling we're gonna need them," Brass said, looking back at the house.

They all stared at the house silently for a few minutes. Finally, Sara sighed, "I'm going in there," She stated matter-of-factly, heading toward the house.

"What?" Warrick frowned, and he, Nick and Greg followed her. "Sara, Hotchner told us to wait out here, remember?" he reminded her as she walked through the broken down door.

"That was when there was a killer inside." Sara replied. "Right now, there are five FBI agents, and possibly two very hurt men. I think I'm out of danger. I hate just standing around."

Greg almost snorted as they followed her to the open basement door, "I thought you didn't trust profilers?" he asked.

She frowned, "Ok, I didn't trust profil_ing_," Sara admitted, "I'm still not 100% sure that I do… but the people doing the profiling aren't so bad…" It looked like it took a lot out of her to admit that she was wrong about something.

The men just laughed as they descended the stairs with her. They'd all considered entering the house as well, before the killer had been brought out in handcuffs, but Agent Hotchner's stern glare prevented them from doing anything reckless.

They each let out a collective gasp of shock when they reached the bottom of the stairs. They'd thought it would be bad, but this…

* * *

Grissom sighed as he watched them enter the house. "Do you think we should go after them?" he asked, looking at Brass.

Brass shrugged, "We've got the killer right here… I don't think the agents will mind them going in now. Plus, someone's gotta watch the prisoner." He nodded toward Michael, who was glowering at them in the back seat.

"They'll be fine, Gil." Catherine assured him. "I kinda wanted to go in myself… but I'm not sure if I want to know just yet what's happened to Agent Reid and his father."

Grissom nodded, "Let's just hope we got here in time."

* * *

Morgan had been the first person down the stairs to the basement. And what he saw made his heart hurt and his blood boil. Reid was slumped against one wall, a chain around his ankle. He was unconscious, bloody, bruised and breathing harshly. On the other wall, William Reid lay in a crumpled heap, bruises decorating his face, a trickle of blood running down the side of his head. He hadn't been hurt as much as Reid had, which made little sense to Morgan, who immediately rushed over to his unconscious friend.

"Oh my God," JJ gasped as she and the rest of team came down the stairs.

"Is he -" Prentiss couldn't finish the question, forcing herself to look away from her beaten friend.

"He's alive," Morgan answered, not taking his eyes off of Reid. "But barely. His wrist is broken, he's been beaten pretty badly and he's got a nasty gash on his head. It looks like his shoulder might've been dislocated too… He's not breathing right…" Gently, he pulled Reid away from the wall, to examine his wounds more thoroughly.

They heard footsteps down the stairs and looked up to see Sara, Warrick, Nick and Greg enter the basement. They all gasped in shock at the state Reid was in. "What the hell happened to him?" Nick demanded.

"I don't know," Morgan muttered, sounding angry, "The bastard beat him nearly to death."

A low groan from the other side of the room turned everyone's attention to William.

William didn't open his eyes at first. He'd heard a man's voice and could sense that someone was in the room. Angrily, he tried to push himself up, muttering, "Leave him alone." with as much streagnth as he could muster.

He felt hands on his shoulder and wondered for a second if maybe Michael had finally decided to just kill him himself. "Shh, it's okay Mr. Reid. We aren't here to hurt you. We work with Spencer. We're here to help."

William frowned, he didn't recognize the voice, it was female. But it wasn't threatening and … she'd said something about Spencer. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, wincing. His head was pounding. A young blonde woman was kneeling in front of him. Next to her was an older man who was vaguely familiar. "Agent Rossi," he breathed, blinking.

Rossi nodded, "Yes, remember me? I work with your son. And this is Agent Jareau. She works with him too. We're here to help."

William frowned, still trying to form thoughts completely in his mind. "Where is he? Where's Spencer?" the look of fear on the man's face made Rossi's heart sink. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know exactly what had happened in this basement.

"He's fine. Our other friends are with him now." JJ explained.

"But… he's still alive, right?" William demanded. Spencer had been so weak looking before he'd blacked out…

"He's unconscious, but he's alive. Paramedics are on their way, Mr. Reid. Don't worry. We'll take care of him." Rossi promised him.

William nodded slowly, leaning against the wall, his eyes locked on the agents across from him and his son lying unconscious on the floor.

"We need something to get these chains off of them," Hotch said, looking around.

"I noticed some keys on a hook when we came in," Warrick said. "Maybe they'll do it. I'll go get them." He hurried back up the stairs and ran to the key hook by the door, grabbing the key ring and hurrying back down to the basement.

He handed they keys to Hotch, who bent and began trying keys. The third key unlocked the cuff around Reid's ankle and Morgan helped slide it off, trying to move Reid as little as possible. They keys were then passed to Rossi, who unlocked the cuff on William's ankle.

William bent forward and rubbed his ankle gently, glad the chain was finally gone. He looked back at his son on the other side of the room and tried to stand. Rossi and JJ caught the man before he could fall, and gently guided him to the opposite wall. He stumbled a few time and winced as the movement jostled his aching head, but he was determined to get there.

He sank back down to the ground as soon as he reached the wall. He reached out and took Spencer's unbroken hand in his own, tears leaking from his eyes. He didn't pay any attention to the FBI agents and CSIs who were in the room, watching. He'd recognized Agent Morgan when he sat down. The younger man was looking at Spencer with the same look of guilt and anger that William was. He wondered briefly why the man would feel guilty for what had happened, but brushed the thought aside. He was only certain of two things at the moment. His son was hurt, badly, and it was completely his fault.

The paramedics finally arrived and Reid and his dad were both put into ambulances and rushed to the hospital. Morgan rode with Reid and Rossi had volunteered to ride with William.

* * *

Brass drove back to the station to put Michael in a holding cell. They would interrogate him later… then he and the CSI team hurried over to the hospital, almost as anxious as the FBI agents were to find out how Agent Reid was doing. He hadn't woken up since they'd found him, which was worrying with his head wound and likely concussion.

Brass just hoped that the young man would be alright. He and the CSIs had formed a strange liking to the kid. He wasn't sure if he could deal with it if the agent didn't make it. He wasn't sure any of them could.


	16. A Tragic Tale

**A/N: WOO-HOO! Chapter sixteen... :) Never thought it would get this far... Thanks soooo much for all the reviews and comments and alerts and favorite adds! :) This is not the last chapter, even though it was supposed to be. There will be at least one more chapter...**

**WARNING: nothing much... William reliving the kidnapping, Reid's hurt... sadness...**

**PLEASE REVIEW! :)**

Ch. 16: A Tragic Tale

Morgan and Rossi stood anxiously in the waiting room when the others arrived. "Any news yet?" Hotch asked, looking between the two men.

"Not much, William is being treated. He's got a concussion and a couple of gashes on his head, a few bruises. They want to keep him over night, just to be sure. But we're allowed to talk to him as soon as we want." Rossi explained. He'd talked with the paramedics and the doctor who was treating Reid's father as soon as they'd arrived at the hospital.

"What about Reid?" JJ asked, looking desperately to Morgan.

"He's in surgery right now," Morgan said slowly. "They said he had several broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a fractured wrist, a concussion… and one of his ribs pierced a lung and it collapsed. The doctor hasn't told me much more since we got here."

"Surgery…" Prentiss whispered, her eyes wide in shock.

"I called Garcia when we got here… she's getting on the next flight to Vegas." Morgan continued. "She's about to have a mental breakdown."

Hotch nodded, fighting more than he normally did to keep his composure. It didn't sound good… but Reid had been through a lot in the past… and he was alive. Right now, that was all that mattered. He turned to Brass, "What about Michael?" he asked.

"He's in a holding cell right now." Brass informed him. "I figured your team might want to be there for the interrogation… Actually, I figured you might want to run point on it, Agent Hotchner."

Hotch nodded, "I appreciate that," he said gratefully. "We should… we should probably go talk to William, see what he remembers."

* * *

The doctor was reluctant to let both the profiling team and the CSI team into William Reid's room, but Hotch was a hard man to say no to when he fixed someone with that hard glare of his. So, Dr. Wright relented, but warned that if his patient was overexcited in the least, he wouldn't allow a single one of them back into the room.

William sat propped on the hospital bed looking very unhappy. He had stitches running down the side of his head where he'd hit the concrete walls in the basement, and even the slightest movement made him wince. But the second they entered, he sat upright and demanded, "Where's Spencer?"

The two teams glanced nervously at each other before JJ responded slowly, "He's in surgery. He's going to be okay, Mr. Reid."

"Surgery?" William paled. "How bad is he?"

"We're not sure at the moment," Morgan explained. "He's got a punctured lung that collapsed, a concussion, a broken wrist and a bunch of other injuries… but he'll be alright."

William stared at Morgan for a long moment before nodding briefly. "C-can I see him when he wakes up?" he asked nervously.

"That depends on what the doctor says, Mr. Reid." Hotch said. "And right now, we need to ask you some questions."

William bit his lip and nodded again, wincing at the movement. "Of course," he said.

"What exactly happened in the basement, Mr. Reid?" Brass asked gently, he and Hotch taking the empty seats by the man's bed.

William's eyes got a far away look in them for a moment, "W-when I woke up… I was chained to wall and… and Spencer was chained to wall across from me. A-and Michael, he said his name was Michael, h-he told us, told Spencer, that all he had to do was k-kill me, and he would let him go." He paused, his breath shaky, before continuing. "Spencer wouldn't do it though… he said… he said that even though I was never a f-father to him… I didn't deserve - I didn't deserve to die."

Tears started to leak from the man's eyes as he looked away from the agents and CSIs in the room, shame burning his face.

Hotch leaned forward in his chair, "It's alright Mr. Reid, take your time." he said gently. "After Reid said he wouldn't kill you, what happened?"

"He - he got angry. It was like he was a different person… and he started hitting Spencer… I kept yelling at him to stop, to leave him alone, but he ignored me… And - and then he stopped and left. I went over to Spencer, to see if he was alright, and he couldn't even speak at first… then… Michael came back down again later and … he told me to get away from him… when I didn't move, he grabbed me and threw me across the room. Then he knelt down in front of Spencer and started to clean the blood off of his face and bandage him, he set his nose… and he said he was sorry."

William frowned again, taking another ragged breath. It seemed so surreal now, talking about what had happened. Agent Prentiss was the one who spoke the next time, "And then what happened?" she asked quietly, looking sadly at the man on the hospital bed.

The questioning continued like that for about twenty minutes. Every time William paused his tragic tale, someone else in the room would gently prod him back into talking. It got difficult for William to speak after a while and when he finally got to the part where he was knocked out, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the bed, clearly spent.

* * *

Warrick, Greg and Nick stood in the waiting room, looking back at the entry every few minutes while Agents Hotchner and Morgan spoke with Reid's doctor. They were unnerved by the story William Reid had told them. How could someone do something like that to a kid like Spencer Reid?

"This is absolutely unbelievable," Nick muttered, glancing back at the entryway again. "That kid never did anything to anyone… why would Michael do that to him?"

"Because he's a sick bastard who is going to be going away for a long, long time." Warrick said bitterly.

"He deserves the death penalty," Greg chimed in, a frown on his face. "The guy killed six people and kidnapped two."

Nick nodded in agreement, "He should never be allowed back in public again, that's for sure."

* * *

The talk with Reid's doctor had been slightly uplifting, and very depressing. Reid would make a full recovery, but he would need to spend at least a week, most likely more, in the hospital before he was released.

He'd broken his nose, his wrist and four ribs. He had a bad concussion, several gashes on his head that had required stitches, a dislocated shoulder, bruising everywhere, a sprained ankle and two broken fingers. Not to mention his punctured and collapsed lung. He still needed assistance breathing and couldn't have more than one visitor at a time for no more than a few minutes.

Hotch allowed Morgan to be the first to visit him. Morgan walked into the room and looked at his sleeping friend sadly. A pang of guilt hit him yet again, just like it had down in that basement. If he had just gone with Reid to get the coffee, this never would've happened.

He hated seeing Reid look so vulnerable, hooked up to tubes and machines, bandages and stitches covering his face and hands, a cast on his left wrist and bruises covering every inch of exposed skin.

Sighing, Morgan sank down into the chair next to the bed and glanced at the machines before turning back to Reid. He quietly began talking to him, telling him that his dad was alright, that they'd got Michael, that the entire team was here for him. He didn't really think Reid could hear him, but he had to fill the silence somehow.

As much as he hated seeing Reid like that, he preferred it much more than the alternative of death. If they hadn't gotten there in time… his thoughts trailed off and turned bloody as he considered what he would've done to Michael Bradley if Reid had died… But he hadn't died. That was the important part. He was alive, and breathing and on the - slow - road to recovery. Everything would be back to normal soon enough.


	17. Back To Normal

**A/N: ha! I finally got to the end of this story! :) THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND REVIEWING AND COMMENTING! :) :) :) :) I lovez you all sooooo much! :)**

**WARNING: spoilers for "Revelations" other than that... not much... enjoy! :)**

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Ch. 17: Back To Normal

Reid sat back in his hospital bed, grumbling incoherently to himself. It had been almost three weeks and he was glaring up at the clock on the wall, willing the hand to move faster. He was being released today, but his ankle was still sore, and his wrist still had a cast on it, so the doctor had insisted that he at least take a wheelchair to the car.

Morgan and Greg had volunteered to pick Reid up from the hospital and drive him back to the station. Hotch had somehow managed to convince Strauss to let the entire team - even Garcia - stay in Vegas while Reid was recovering. He'd told her something about needing to be there for the interrogation of Michael Bradley, which had went well. Michael had confessed to everything after a couple of hours of tough questioning with Brass and Hotch.

Neither Brass nor Hotch had been exactly kind to murderer, but no one had really said anything to them about the brutal interrogation. They all knew if they had been the ones in that tiny room with Michael, they probably wouldn't have had the control that the two men had exhibited.

Reid was already dressed, and still glaring at the clock. It would be at least another hour before Morgan and Greg got there, but he was ready to leave. During his stay, he'd been visited by everyone. Morgan and Garcia the most. Even the CSIs, including Sara, had been there a few times.

When he'd woken up, Garcia had been in the room with him, tears smearing her mascara down her face. But when she saw his eyes flutter open, a grin broke out and she was immediately up, calling everyone into the room, despite the doctor's orders of only one visitor at a time. She'd baked him cookies, tied balloons around his bed and even bought him a card.

It had been nice, surrounded by friends, old and new, and being comforted. He hated being fussed over, but at least he knew it meant they cared. It would've been better if he wasn't in so much pain. Everything hurt, his chest, his stomach his head, his arms, his wrist, his ankle…

He sighed, pushing against the stiff pillow with his elbow and shifting to get more comfortable. There were still fading bruises covering his face, and the doctor had only recently removed the stitches. It was still difficult to breath, but so much better than it had been at first.

He glanced fondly at the small stack of cards on the bedside table and the little bouquet of tiny balloons that Garcia had given him. Then his smile fell again… he'd been visited by everyone on the team, all the CSIs, even Detective Brass… but one person hadn't visited him yet. Not once. His father.

He knew it was childish to feel so let down, so hurt by his father's lack of appearance, but he couldn't help it. It felt like he'd abandoned him all over again, and it hurt. Just like the last time. Maybe his father could be a dad when his life depended on it, when the situation was dire, but under normal circumstances, in the real world, his dad just didn't seem to be able to handle the burden of fatherhood. He should've known better than to have hoped he'd show up in the first place.

Sighing, he glanced back at the clock, almost growling when he saw that the minute hand had only moved twice.

* * *

William stood outside of the hospital room, nerves shaking. He hadn't come by to visit Spencer once since he'd been released from the hospital the day after they were rescued. He'd planned on visiting him immediately, but when he'd gotten to the room the door had been standing open and he could see Spencer's friends all gathered inside. He'd turned around quickly and half jogged down the hall. He planned on going back the next day, then the next… soon the days turned into a week, and then two weeks…

Now, almost three weeks later, Spencer was about to be released from the hospital and he still hadn't visited him. He knew he was just being a coward. He was terrified of what his son would say to him, what he would think. He felt like they'd gotten past a lot of old wounds and bad memories down in that cold basement, trapped. But somehow, here, in the light, away from that place, it seemed so much more like a dream than an actual event. He was almost certain that Spencer wouldn't want to see him. After all, it had been his fault he'd been hurt in the first place.

He closed his eyes and shook himself mentally. He remembered the last time he'd ran away from his son like a coward, and he couldn't do that to Spencer again. Even if he didn't want to see him, he couldn't just abandon him again. He remembered Spencer's shaky voice, down in the basement, saying _"So many times I needed you and you weren't there…"_

He squared his shoulders. He wasn't about to let his fear get in the way of his duty as a father to his son. Taking a deep breath, he took another half step forward and tentatively knocked on the closed door, before slowly opening it.

* * *

Reid looked at the door when the knock came, frowning. _Who -?_ Then the door opened and his father slowly shuffled into the room, standing awkwardly a few feet from the bed.

"Dad?" Reid's voice came out as a whisper. He blinked, staring at the man. He couldn't stop a small jolt of joy from sweeping through his body. His father had actually came to the hospital. It was quickly followed with anger, however. Why hadn't he come earlier? "What are you doing here?"

William bit his lip and edged a little closer to the bed, sitting down in the chair before answering. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner…" he said quietly. "I just… thought you wouldn't want to see me."

Reid frowned, "Why would you think that?"

"Because this - all of this is my fault, son. If I had been there for you, been there for your mother, you would never have gotten hurt." William explained, looking at the bruises still on Spencer's face and wincing guiltily.

"No, dad, this is not your fault. It's Michael's fault, alright? You didn't do this to me. I told you that. You need to stop blaming yourself. Trust me, I've been worse than this before."

William blinked, frowning then. "Really?" he asked. "Worse how?"

Reid took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. He and his father had talked about a lot down in the basement, but his job hadn't been one of them. He still wasn't sure exactly how he felt about his dad anyway. Could he really trust him enough to talk about those terrible memories? "I have a dangerous job, Dad." he said quietly.

"I know that, Spencer. But that doesn't explain what could possibly have been worse than being kidnapped and nearly beaten to death."

Reid shrugged, "A lot, actually." he said slowly. "I've been kidnapped before… and that time, I actually did die, for a few minutes. Before he gave me CPR…" he trailed off, his mind shying away from memories of Tobias and Charles and … everything that had happened as a result.

William blinked, shocked. "Y-you died?" he asked shakily. "When did this happen?"

"A few years ago," Reid said. "When we were on a case in Georgia."

William swallowed, shaking his head. "I never knew… Has anything else happened?"

Reid sighed and glanced back at the clock. Still nearly and hour before they would arrive. And besides, he did want to at least try to know his father better… to have an actually relationship with his dad. He nodded slowly and began to explain some of the particularly bad things that had happened to him. It was oddly therapeutic to talk to his father about it. He never really talked much with the team about those time… he didn't like to relive any of it. But sitting in the hospital room with his father, he felt almost relieved to share those things with him.

* * *

Morgan and Greg walked into Reid's room, surprised to see him talking with his father. "Mr. Reid," Morgan said, sounding as surprised as he felt. "Didn't expect to see you here."

William nodded, "I know… but I couldn't just not visit my own son… not after all that's happened recently."

Morgan nodded, "Well you ready to go, kid?" he asked, looking at Reid. Reid nodded and immediately jumped out of the bed, wincing slightly as pressure was applied to his sore ankle.

"Hold it, Pretty Boy," Morgan grinned, catching him before he could call. "Doctor says you've gotta use a wheelchair to get to the car."

Reid scowled, pushing away Morgan's hands, "I can walk, Morgan."

Greg laughed, "You should just go with it, dude." he told Reid. "Morgan isn't going to let you do anything you want to do."

Reid scowled but knew Greg was right. In the past few weeks, the profilers and CSIs had gotten to really know each other, and Greg had picked up on Morgan's unrelenting personality quickly.

"Fine." he muttered, allowing Morgan to unfold the wheelchair the hospital provided and settled into it. "Just walk fast, Morgan." he ordered.

"You will call me sometime, won't you, Spencer?" William asked as the men began to leave. He looked somewhat hopeful and a little desperate. He really wanted to get to know his son. He knew he didn't deserve to, knew that it would almost definately take a very long time for Spencer to really trust him, to want to see him, but he wanted to make it work. To be the father he hadn't been all those years ago.

"Of course." Reid assured him. "I'll call as soon as I get back to Quantico." he promised. He wasn't sure if it was a promise that he would keep, but the happieness that glittered in his father's eyes gave him a small incintive to do so. He wasn't sure if he would ever truly get over the hurt and anger that always seemed to spark when he saw his father, or thought about him for that matter, but he was hopeful. Maybe it would work out. And if it didn't, at least he'd tried.

William nodded with a small smile as his son was wheeled out of the hospital room and down the hall. Morgan was walking extra slow just to mess with Reid, but he hardly paid attention to him, talking to Greg about a new Sci-Fi movie that they both seen a couple of months earlier.

Morgan sighed and sped up his pace, rolling his eyes. Nerds would always find each other, no matter where they were. He listened to the conversation, interjecting a few teasing comments here and there when one of them said something really off-the-wall.

The BAU's time in Vegas was soon to be over, they would say goodbye to the CSIs and Detective Brass, their new friends, and head back to Virginia. Morgan smiled as he and Greg helped Reid into the SUV. Just like he'd thought, everything was slowly getting back to normal. Back to the way they were supposed to be. Finally.

END


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